In Time
by altwriter
Summary: This isn't about why the war started between universes without Peter, or what happened in the past when he didn't exist. It's about how he comes back. -To cope with the hiatus. Follow-up to 'The Day We Died'. A take on what could possibly happen next.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

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><p>Author's Note: I'm taking a bit of a creative license, because for the purpose of this, I didn't want the bridge to remain between universes.<p>

How am I surviving the hiatus? Writing.

I don't know where this is going to end up, but I do know that I'm going to try and make it last until Fringe comes back.

I have the first few chapters written, but beyond that, I will be trying to write at least a bit each day, though updates will be a bit sporadic because of my schedule.

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><p>In Time<p>

Chapter One

"Whatever you've both done, we're here now, so maybe it's time we start to fix it."

Walter turned to her after she said this, and she can feel their eyes on her; her alternate's, and the other Walter's. It's strange, to see what is nearly a mirror image of herself. "Both universes are unstable like this. They cannot stay combined forever. In fact, I think that this is only a temporary condition."

Walternate stepped forward. "We need to fix this—no, _you _need to fix this. This is your fault in the first place."

"You need to give me time." Walter gestured wildly with his arms around the room. "I can fix this, I just need to figure out _how,_ first. But I promise, I will right this wrong."

"You've had enough time."

Walter's brows rose, in an unfamiliar expression of dominance toward his alternate. "I could fix this, or I could just leave your universe to die. This bridge won't last forever, but remember, we both know how to travel universes. Once I figure out the solution, I _will _bring it here. I can promise that."

There was a subdued guilt that had long-plagued Walter, and beneath his threatening words, this feeling was apparent. He wanted to fix the cracks in the other universe, but it would only get worse if the two stayed merged like they were.

The entire room began to shimmer. Time was running out; they wouldn't be able to fix anything, now. Their universes had come together, but it was never meant to be so. They could not stay merged. But, the tears would get worse in the other universe—that much, Walternate clearly knew, by the look on his face. His universe didn't have much time, and so he would have to, however grudgingly, rely on both himself and his resources, as well as Walter, to restore balance and peace.

"I'll be waiting for your solution," he called, as they began to fade from vision. "And I'll be making one of my own. You're not the only one who can fix this. I'm not going to rely on you, after everything you've done."

And with that, they were gone. The Machine still stood, but the residents of the other universe were gone; the Machine hadn't been able to keep up the bridge for any longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

Even after that strange encounter, life returned to a sense of normalcy. Walter spent endless days in the lab, trying to come up with ways to fix the holes in the universe, but to no avail, And, he worked under the threat that Waletrnate could come at any time, demanding that he fix every problem he caused. Walter couldn't do that—he hadn't meant to hurt the other universe, but it had happened, and he regretted that he couldn't fix that. Watlernate did not understand regret or guilt; he just wanted his world to be returned to its former glory, before Walter had crossed over. But, Walter had some comfort from the fact that he knew Walternate would most likely not risk crossing over, if only not to cause another soft spot that could potentially turn into a vortex.

Olivia couldn't do much to help; she preferred to spend as little time in the lab as possible, anyway. Much of the time, Walter grated on her nerves. She hadn't learned patience with him, yet, though she planned to talk to Astrid about that.

The Machine did manage to halt the end of the world—at least for now. When they stepped out onto Liberty Island, they could see that the dry lightning storms had stopped, and the sun had come back out. Order was once again, temporarily, restored.

She was at home two nights after they traveled to the other universe, eating dinner and thinking about leaving the bureau to become a nomad. Anything was better than knowing about the danger they faced each and every day. Who knew when the Machine could start up again; Walternate could bring it back to life, if he wanted to. After all, both Olivias had the power to turn it on.

Someone had once told her that having déjà vu meant you were in line with your destiny. She couldn't remember who it had been, though. Vaguely, she thought it may have been an old friend, but she couldn't quite place a face or a name. But, just sitting on her couch, she had a strange feeling, coupled with the disembodied voice she heard come from somewhere behind her. The voice was familiar, though she had no idea where from.

Her gun was in her room; no use to her, there. So, she had to settle for merely turning around to see who else was in her apartment. A man, tall, somewhat scruffy, though admittedly, very handsome, stood near her door. Why did he look so familiar?

"Olivia," he said, and his eyes were shining with hope.

"Who are you?" She stood, tensed and poised on the balls of her feet in a defensive stance. "How do you know my name?"

"You don't remember me." It wasn't a question; it was a statement. How could she remember him, when she'd never seen him before? "I knew you wouldn't, not now. But, things are going to change. I've seen what can happen, and I know what's happening now, to your world. What I don't know is how to fix it."

"You're not making any sense." Her posture had relaxed, though she was still on high-alert. However, this man didn't seem to be much of a threat, if his philosophical musings were anything to go by. "I don't know who you are. What are you talking about?"

"I need your help, Olivia. I need you to help me come back." The look on his face—she had never seen such an expression of despair, of such complete anguish.

She moved forward, until she stood just a foot away from him. "How? How can I do that?" She knew this was completely irrational—this man had broken into her house, and was telling her that he needed her help. For all she knew, he was a lunatic. But, deep in the back of her mind, she knew that wasn't the case. This man was important, and she had to help him. She just didn't know why.

"You need to remember, first."

"Remember what?"

But he was gone, just as quickly as he'd come. He'd vanished in thin air, right before her eyes, and she stood there for a moment, attempting to regain her bearings.

She wasn't going to tell anyone about this; not now. She was running on a complete lack of sleep, and this may have just been a product of that. Though, exhaustion certainly didn't explain the strange feelings she'd felt when he _had_ been in the room.

Later that night, she woke in a cold sweat, with fragments of her dream flashing in front of her eyes. A hand on hers; scenes she had never seen before, memories she had never lived.

"What's happening to me?" she murmured, her hands tangled in her hair, doubled in on herself. They'd managed to bring the end of the world to a standstill, and she had thought that would be at least a solution to some of her problems, until Walter figure out a way to repair the damage caused by his actions. But, it seemed a whole new set of issues had cropped up, the foremost being whatever was going on with her head.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

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><p>Chapter Three<p>

"Anything new?" Walter jumped as he heard Olivia's voice, and swung to face her.

"No, not yet. It's quite hard, to fix holes in the universe, you know." He scowled. "I just hope Walternate doesn't figure out a way to do so, first."

Astrid smiled from her spot at the computer. "Because he's your competition." It was nice, that she could inject humor into such a serious situation.

"Precisely. I will not have another version be better than myself." But, instead of turning back to his work, his eyes narrowed as he stared at Olivia. "Agent Dunham, is something wrong? You're looking a bit off today."

"Oh, no." She shook her head a bit too enthusiastically. "I'm fine." Walter did not seem convinced, though he did stop pestering her. Olivia stood there, mulling over something, until she said, "Walter, why didn't the soft spots fix themselves, after the two universes were combined? I mean, I thought the Machine was supposed to fix everything. But, it just seemed to cause more damage."

"We never really understood what it's function was. Maybe it really wasn't a fix. Or, maybe it's just not the right time."

"The right _time_?"

"Yes. The Machine accelerated the destruction of our universe once the other Olivia activated on the Other Side. Perhaps it was simply activated at the wrong time."

Astrid looked on with concern. Usually, Olivia did not get into conversations of this type with Walter; she quickly grew tired of his tangents. "So," she said, "what you're saying is that if the Machine is activated at the _right _time, it will fix both universes?"

"Hypothetically, yes." Walter nodded. "But, we can't be sure. We don't even know what the right time would be. The only thing we can do now is try to fix the damage that's already been done." Then he said, more softly, "The damage that I caused."

#

It seemed that the number of Fringe events had lowered after the Machine had been turned off—Olivia had no new cases. And, she could do nothing to help Walter, meaning she also did not have anything to do. It was strange, to have been in such a whirlwind of events, and then to have it all suddenly stop. The public had been in a tizzy after the dry lightning storms and vortexes, but it had calmed down after the government had ever-so-skillfully covered it up.

She left Walter and Astrid back in the lab as she ventured out onto the campus. She needed some fresh air, something to clear her head. Time was an important factor, and she'd known that all along, but just _how_ important is what she had never realized. What if the Machine had been set off at a different time? What if Walternate had decided to do it earlier, or later? Perhaps they wouldn't be in this position. Then again, if Walter and William Bell had never opened up a hole into the other universe, none of this would have even been a problem.

The students milling about paid no attention to her. It struck her that none of them knew just how close to death they had been; how there had been such a strong possibility that their universe would have been ripped apart right in front of them. Perhaps ignorance was bliss.

She settled down on a bench, her elbows resting on her knees, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. She was lost in thought, until she felt another person sit down beside her. She looked over, and momentarily was in a state of shock. This man wore a suit and a fedora—sure, the hat was a bit dated, but that wasn't the strange thing. He was completely hairless, with an emotionless face. This was the man they called The Observer, and though she'd never met him, the Fringe Division had a room full of pictures that had been taken at various locations and dates, and he was in all of them.

"Hello, Olivia," he said. His voice had an odd lilt to it, almost monotone, but not quite. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Who are you?" She felt as if she'd already asked that question too many times in the last twenty-four hours.

"That is not important. I am not important. _You_ are."

"Me?" She turned toward him, sitting up straighter. "Okay, but why? And why would you say that?"

"'Reality is both subjective and malleable. If you can dream a better world, you can make a better world.' Do you remember ever hearing that before?" She did, though she couldn't place who had said it. And again, that feeling of déjà vu swept over her.

"Vaguely. What does that have to do with anything?"

"You'll find out soon enough." The Observer stood, and turned to open his briefcase. "You are very important, Olivia Dunham. But, you are missing something. And you need to remember before I can help you anymore. You see, I made a mistake, a tragic mistake. And I fear that I have caused more damage than I originally intended to."

She, too, stood, peering at him, not sure what was going on. "I don't understand."

"I need you to help me fix my mistake, but I need to help you, first. But, I can't do that until you begin to remember."

"What is it that I need to remember?" She was growing angry, though the only outward sign of that was the clenching of her fists, and a slight rise in her voice.

"You will learn soon enough." The Observer remained stoic as he handed her a slip of paper. "At seven o'clock tonight, go to the address that is written there."

She looked down at the paper. It listed a bar in the city, though she'd never been to it before. But, she remembered that it was just across the street from a certain Alice Merchant's house, a woman who had been seeing her husband's alternate from the Other Side. Olivia remembered that case well—she'd gone home and drowned herself in whisky afterward, mourning the fact that she'd never have a relationship like the Merchants' did.

"Why?" she asked, but when she looked up, the Observer was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

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><p>Chapter Four<p>

At seven o'clock sharp, Olivia entered the bar. Nothing looked unusual, and the Observer was not there, as she supposed he would've been. Only one table was open, nearer to the center of the room, and so she took a seat and ordered a drink. She spent most of her nights at home, very much alone, and so she decided that it was nice to get out once in a while, to be surrounded by people, even if they were strangers.

"Do you remember yet?" Her eyes had been closed, though they snapped open as she heard the now-familiar voice. The Observer sat in front of her, his briefcase between them on the table. "Do you remember what happened here?"

"Nothing happened here." Her brows furrowed. "I've never even been here."

"Yes, you have."

Her frown deepened. "Enough with the cryptic messages, alright? Just tell me what's going on."

"It's not that simple. Nothing ever is." Olivia opened her mouth to speak, but he took the words right from her mouth. "Is this about the man that was in my house yesterday?" The Observer nodded, ignoring Olivia's puzzled expression. "Yes, it is. His name is Peter Bishop. I made a mistake, and that mistake caused Peter Bishop to cease to exist. I thought that if he never existed, it would fix both universes. I was wrong."

"But what does this have to do with me? Why would I be involved in any of this?" She narrowed her eyes. "Wait, Bishop, you said? As in, he's related to Walter Bishop?"

"He is Walter Bishop's son."

"Nonsense. Walter doesn't have a son."

"He used to, until Peter disappeared. That is why your universe exists—there is no Peter Bishop here. But, that is a mistake. He should be here—the universe is out of balance. It cannot survive without the both of you."

"Quantum entanglement," Olivia murmured, glancing out the window. "Walter talked about it once. One cannot exist without the other."

"Exactly. Your universe will end if you cannot get Peter back. But, he is not gone completely."

"Peter is the one I need to remember?"

"Yes." He stared at her for a moment, then said, "Close your eyes." She did as she was told, and felt her lay his hands flat atop hers, though she doubted it had been meant as a comforting gesture. "Do you have a feeling that you've been here before? Have you been experiencing instances of déjà vu recently?"

"Yes." The looks that the other residents of the bar kept shooting the odd couple were peculiar, but neither was focused on anything else right now. "Even here. But, I've never been here before."

"Yes, you have."

"In another universe?" Walter had talked about déjà vu before, about how it was possible that it occurred because you had been in that place before, only in a different universe. But, that didn't explain why it seemed to be so important now.

"No," said the Observer. "In the past. Before he ceased to exist."

"Peter Bishop?"

"Yes. Once he disappeared, though, your memories changed, to erase him from them as well. He does not exist anymore, but his nonexistence has thrown the universe off balance."

Her eyes still closed, she began to feel something stir in the back of her mind. A wisp of a memory was beginning to rise to the surface. She caught a glimpse, her own voice, saying, "I'm afraid that this is just who I am." And then, there was that man—Peter's—face. Peter Bishop. Why was the name so familiar, when she had not heard it until the Observer had told her of him?

Her mind was holding on to the memory, attempting to get as much of it as she could, but her cellphone rang at that moment, jerking her from the nearly-hypnotic state. When she opened her eyes, the Observer as gone, and so was the memory. With a heavy sigh, she answered her phone.

"Dunham."

"Hey, Olivia, it's Astrid. Walter says you need to come to the lab, he says it's important." Then, she could hear Walter yell from the background,

"We're too late!"


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

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><p>Chapter Five<p>

After such an exclamation from Walter over the phone, Olivia had no choice but to head back to the lab, as much as she wanted to chase down the Observer. There was an endless amount of questions running through her head, and she hadn't any answers. Not to mention that, now, Walter was apparently quite worried about something, and that was never a good sign.

Astrid was crouched over the computer, and Walter was peering over her shoulder, when Olivia walked in. Gene mooed dully from the background, oblivious to what was going on. As soon as he heard the door slam shut, Walter's head snapped up.

"Thank goodness you're here!"

Olivia nodded tightly. "What's going on?"

Walter shifted on his heels, keeping his mouth shut. Astrid spoke instead, "Massive Dynamic called. Their scientists are detecting strange occurrences."

"Strange occurrences?" repeated Olivia, moving closer, so that she, too, could see the computer screen. It showed a map of the United States, and a red circle highlighted certain points. "What do you mean?"

"Dry lightning storms again. Earthquakes in places that usually never have them. What looks to be a vortex opened up in the middle of one of the Great Lakes."

Olivia turned to Walter. "What does this mean? What's going on, Walter?"

Walter had never been good at hiding his emotions—now, he was a mess. "I fear that Walternate has grown impatient. When you formed that bridge between universes, it's a shame you couldn't keep it up. It would've afforded us a better chance of saving our universe."

"Walter, please. Tell me what's going on. You know that I had limited control over the Machine—we're still not completely sure as to what it does. I have no idea how that bridge was formed, or why it was broken."

"Walternate never wanted to save our universe, even if it meant his universe was able to survive, too. He lied to us, when he said he was going to try and work on a solution. I'm sure that, since then, he's only been trying to figure out a new way to destroy our universe, so that there is no longer any threat to his. And I'm too late—I haven't found a solution yet." His lower lip trembled, his hands curled into fists. "I don't know how to stop this!"

Olivia looked to Astrid; surely she knew what was going on, and could explain it to her, because she wasn't getting much from Walter. "What Walter means is that Walternate is trying to destroy our universe again. That's why there are all of these strange events—he's causing them."

"Walter, come on. We figured out something before, so why can't we do it again?" Olivia, in a rare gesture of support for the older man, placed her hand on his shoulder. "Please, Walter. What can I do to help? We can do this. We can stop this."

He stared at the computer screen for what felt like an eternity, his forehead scrunched up in thought, until he turned back to her and said, "We need to go to Massive Dynamic."

#

Never had a car ride felt longer. Walter spent the entire time in the backseat, wasting away in worry, and Astrid would glance back every so often from her spot in the passenger seat, obviously quite anxious as well. Olivia was more composed, though, when faced with the end of the world for the second time in less than a week, she supposed she would have to break eventually.

Massive Dynamic was a flurry of motion. It seemed no one was still, and the chaos only added to the nearly-overwhelming feeling of anxiety. Nina was waiting for them in a rom on one of the upper floors, where scientists were crowded around computers and monitors, taking note of certain data and coordinates. She hurried them into a side room, where Broyles was already waiting.

Nina took a seat, folded her hands, and said, "Walter, I understand why you wanted us all here—we have the technology to monitor everything that is happening. But, I'm not quite sure how you want to fix this."

"I'm not sure myself." He wrung his hands. Olivia, who had previously been pacing the length of the room, stopped.

"Walter, that's ridiculous. What have you been working on all this time?" He said nothing, so she turned to Astrid. But, to her dismay, she merely shrugged.

"To be honest, I haven't really had any idea of what he's been doing."

All eyes were on Walter. He, almost literally, had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"A wall," he said at last. There was a simultaneous "what?" uttered from the other occupants of the room. "A wall, to completely sever the connection between universes. It's the only way I can think to make sure neither universe destroys the other."

"That's not a good idea." A voice came from the corner of the room, but only Olivia seemed to have heard it. There stood the man who had visited her in her apartment—the man she now knew to be Peter Bishop. He had his hands stuck in his pockets and a smirk on his face, but his eyes held a certain sadness. "Severing the connection will only cause the imbalance to become worse. Quantum entanglement. Either both universes survive, or neither."

Well, she couldn't respond, unless she wanted the others to think she was crazy. She looked at Walter, intimately aware of Peter's eyes on her. "Walter, I don't think that's a good idea."

He frowned. "Why not?"

Her mind was whirring—she swore steam was coming from her ears. "I think that when you opened a hole into the other universe, you created a special connection between the two universes. They have a closer connection than they do with any other universe, because of the hole that was created, and, more recently, the bridge. I'm afraid that if we sever the connection, it may mean the end for both universes."

Nina nodded. "Agent Dunham is right. You knew that there would be consequences when you created the window in the first place. This may be one of them."

Broyles, calm as always, shifted in his seat. "Then, what do we do?"

"I don't know if there's anything we _can_ do," said Walter.

Olivia shook her head vehemently. "No. We can't just sit here and wait for the end of the world." She turned to Nina. "Can your people tell us how quickly the incidents are escalating?"

"Yes." She smiled sadly. "They can tell us pretty much anything, except how to stop this."

The outlook was not good. According to Massive Dynamic's scientists, if the incidents continued at the same pace, then their universe would be in shambles in the next couple of days.

Olivia had to take a breather. She'd always prided herself on her ability to stay composed in stressful situations, but this was too much. The world couldn't just end…could it? This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. That damned Observer had said he had made a mistake, so why wasn't he the one running around trying to fix it?

Peter was sitting in one of the toilet stalls when she entered the bathroom. Olivia stopped, blinked, and rubber her eyes. But when she opened them, he was still there.

"You can't get rid of me," he said. "I'm here to help you, Olivia."

"Help?" Her shoulders sagged. "I don't think anyone can, now."

Peter continued, "What the Observer said, about his mistake. This is the result. You can't this world now, not when it's like this."

"So, what do you want me to do?" Her tone grew harsh. "Just leave everyone to die?"

"No! But, this universe, as it is now, was never meant to survive. It was doomed ever since this all began, ever since the past was changed."

"What are you talking about? The past hasn't changed. It's the same as it always has been. No one can change that."

Peter stood, moving closer to her. "No, it isn't. To compensate for the memories you lost, your mind created a new past. But, really, everything was different. The war between universes started for a different reason."

He was just a foot from her. She stood her ground, her head titled slightly upward so she could maintain eye contact, and her jaw was set. "What was the reason, then?"

"Me."

"You?" Her mask slipped; confusion crossed her face.

He nodded. "And you _know_ this. The memories aren't gone. They're just hidden."

He reached out, cupping her cheek, and she flinched. She had expected his hand to go right through her, but it felt so _real_, and so…right. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. "You can't forget, Olivia. You can't forget me." He was almost pleading with her.

"I'm trying to remember-" She was cut short by a blast of white light, then everything went black.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

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><p>Chapter Six<p>

She was in a bedroom, though it wasn't hers. But, she _did_ know who it belong to, after a moment's thought. She could see herself in a mirror across the room; her hair was darker, but again, she knew why. And Peter was in front of her, and he said,  
>"Real is just a matter of perception. I am here. And I'm a part of you that you have to hold onto. You can't forget who you are Olivia. You can't forget where you're from. You can't forget this."<p>

His lips met hers, and she knew that this wasn't just a strange dream—this was a memory, albeit one that had been forgotten for some time. But now, she was remembering. She felt so incredibly safe for that one moment, until the scene changed. She was in bed swathed in a shirt much too large for her, with an arm wrapped around her waist. She could feel his breathe on her neck as he said.

"This is how it's supposed to be. This is what's _right_."

She turned to face him, her hands taking a gentle hold on his face so she could really look at him. "Peter." He grinned. "Peter, oh God. I don't know—"

"I know. I don't know what happened either. But, I do know it's up to you to fix it. You're the only one now."

Before she had the chance to ask him what he was talking about, she was swallowed into darkness yet again, and Peter was gone.

#

Fluorescent lights stung her eyes, burning colored spots into her retinas, but she blinked the pain away, shooting up into seated position. Her head swam with the movement, and she heard her name called. After a moment, Astrid bent over her, and Olivia grasped her shoulders.

"Peter."

Astrid peered at her, quite obviously concerned. "Peter?" she repeated. "Who's that?"

"You don't know—?" The memories were back—of meeting him, of the near-kiss after Jacksonville, of the lazy mornings they spent together in bed. The replacement memories were there as well, but faded, as if they had only been a dream. She hadn't gone home after the incident with Mrs. Merchant; she'd gone to Peter's. And, rather than a lonely memory, she'd created something beautiful with him that night. "No, of course you don't." She wasn't sure why she was the only one to remember, or why her memories and visions had been blended together while she had still been unconscious. But, it was now apparent that she was the only one in the entire universe to know of the previous existence of Peter Bishop. The only question now was:

Where is he?

"Olivia, do you remember what happened?" Astrid's voice pulled her from her thoughts.

No, that was one thing she did not. She knew she was in the hospital, hooked up to various machines and monitors, but that was it. She shook her head.

"The incidents are getting worse. There was a sudden earthquake, and we found you unconscious in the bathroom. A ceiling tile must've fallen and knocked you out. But you're going to be fine. The doctor said you just have a minor concussion." Now, her eyes narrowed. "Who _is_ Peter, though?"

Olivia, instead of humoring Astrid with an answer, said, "I need to talk to Walter."

Walter, as it turned out, had been pacing the hallway. Olivia wasn't surprised, though she supposed she should've been, in this Peter-less universe, because their relationship wasn't as close as it should've been.

"Olivia," he said, once Astrid had called him in, "I was so worried."

"Thank you." Then, she asked Astrid to leave. She could see the slight shock on her face, and a bit of hurt, but this wasn't the time to be sympathetic. "I need to speak to Walter privately."

Walter took a seat beside her bed, and once they were alone, Olivia began, "Walter, do you remember the Observer?"

"The bald man who shows up at important events?" He nodded. "Yes, I remember. You have pictures of him."

"We thought he only watched, but what if there's more to it?"

"What do you mean, dear?"

"What if they don't just _watch_ certain events—what if they _change_ them? And we just don't remember because our minds and memories are malleable, and change to fit what the Observers have done?"

Walter sat and though for a moment. "It's certainly possible, seeing how little we know about him But, where would you get that idea?"

Olivia settled back into the pillows, closing her eyes as she heard the heart rate monitor quicken. "I think the knock to my head jogged some memories." She took in a deep breath, opened her eyes, and turned back toward Walter. "Walter, did you ever want children?"

He smiled wistfully, though he was also a bit bemused with the question she had asked. "Of course. Sadly, my wife passed away before we could ever have any." His smile faded a bit, and his eyes were focused on something that only he could see. "If I had a son, I think I would've named him Peter.

#

Astrid and Walter had gone to Massive Dynamic to attempt to help stall the end of the world, but Olivia was forced to stay back at the hospital to "recover". Rather, though, she was formulating a plan of escape. She needed to find Peter, wherever he was, but no one would help her, of that she was sure. She couldn't tell anyone. Walter didn't even remember him, and so, she supposed she would have a hard time explaining her reasoning to anyone. It was strange, to know of a different past than the rest of the world. Without Peter, she had never been trapped on the Other Side, and she hadn't held as much animosity toward the Other Olivia because she hadn't personally done anything that would offend her. But now, she remembered everything, and it only fueled her need to get out of here and right the wrongs.

The hospital was bustling with activity. It wouldn't be hard to slip out, but there was the matter of the pounding headache she had. It would be easier just to stay here, safe, but that wasn't like her. Olivia Dunham from any universe did not just sit around and wait.

She dragged the IV stand with her into the bathroom, and the mirror greeted her with quite a sight. Apparently, the ceiling tile had done more than give her a concussion, and, thereby, restore her memories. It had also done quite a number on her face; the entire right side had been scratched up, and a nasty bruise had begun to form on her jawline. It would be easy to hide when trying to leave.

She heard her name, and a nurse poked her head into the room.

"Agent Dunham," she said, "I'm glad to see you're awake, but you really shouldn't be on your feet just yet." She moved into the room and took her gently by the arm, leading her back to the bed. Olivia hated it; she felt as if she were being treated as an invalid. Perhaps Astrid had told the nurse she was acting strangely, because of what she had said about Peter. Oh god, Peter. The little tug in her heart was getting worse. She had only just begun to remember him again, but she already was faced with a wall of anxiety whenever she thought about where he could possibly be.

The nurse measured her pulse, took her vitals. After she was finished, instead of leaving, as Olivia would've hoped, she said, "Your colleague told me you seemed a bit off to her, when you first woke up. Do you know what year it is?"

"2011."

"And where do you work?"

"The FBI, Fringe Division."

"And what—"

Olivia interrupted her. "This is a waste of time. It's not my memories that are at fault—it's everyone else's."

The nurse stared at her. "Agent Farnsworth said that you talked about a man named Peter, but she's never heard of him before."

Olivia frowned. "You probably haven't heard of a lot of things that I've dealt with. This is no different. You can't even begin to comprehend what I've seen, and I'm not going to start explaining anything now."

The nurse made a notation on her chart, stood, and went to the door. "I'll be back to check on you in a little bit." She made a lame attempt at a warning look.

Once she was gone, Olivia threw the blankets from her body and stood. Her head was feeling a bit better, but she supposed it was the morphine at work. Her clothes, a bit dusty, were packed in a plastic bag on a side chair. Her gun and badge, thankfully, were sitting on the bedside table. She quickly dressed, tearing the IV from her arm in the process, and made sure she looked as tidy as she could.

It wasn't hard to make it down to the lobby unnoticed; no one recognized her. But when she was just about at the doors, inches from freedom, she heard a yell behind her. Whether it was the nurse or not, she wasn't about take any chances, and she took off at a run out the door. She kept running until the pain in her head forced her to stop. She was at a corner, amidst a group of people, well hidden if anyone was still chasing after her, which she doubted.

She hailed a taxi. The driver inside asked her, "Where ya headed?"

Olivia then realized she had nowhere to go. Peter was gone and she needed to fid her, but she had no idea where to start.

The driver snapped his fingers. "Either gimme an address or get out. I ain't got all day." So she gave him her home address, because it was the only place she could think to go.

Her apartment felt unfamiliar. She now remember that she used to have a picture of Peter and herself next to her bed, but it was gone, because the past had changed. It was like being on the Other Side; living in such a familiar world, and yet, something was a bit off.

She sunk onto the couch, her head in her hands, her coat choking her body with heat. She was hoping for another clue; for Peter to appear again and lead her o him, but there was only silence. That is, until there was a knock at her door. She was both hopeful and apprehensive. It could be a colleague, hunting her down after her escape from the hospital. But, it wasn't. The Observer stood outside her door instead, looking grotesque through the fisheye peephole. She pulled open the door.

"You remember," he said."

Olivia nodded. "Yes. But where is he?"

"I cannot explain now. You are in danger. Everyone is in danger." If he had eyebrows, they would've been furrowed. "You will not find him if you stay ere. You must come with me."

She wanted to keep him there; force him to answer her questions, But, she knew he was only going to tell her what he wanted her to know. He wasn't about to give her any information prematurely. She followed him out of her apartment and down to the sidewalk. Lightning flashed in the distance.

"This world is falling apart." He stared at the sky. "You and Peter are the only ones who can save it."

"But," Olivia said, "you haven't told me _how_."

"You must find Peter." HE began to walk, and she strode alongside him.

"You know where he is."

"Yes."

"Then why won't you tell me?"

"Because I cannot interfere any more than I have to. You must do this on your own." They had stopped at her car, and the Observer gestured toward it. "I cannot show you where he is."

"This is insane. You want me to drive around looking for him?"

"You know where he is. Think."

Olivia made the mistake of closing her eyes in her exasperation, for when she opened them, the Observer was gone.

She didn't understand. What was the use remembering, if she had no idea how to get him back? She sat in her car, wracking her brain, but it was no use. Her head was still fuzzy from the injury, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

"Come on, Olivia. You can do this." He was sitting beside her. "I found you, back in the maze of your own head. This isn't any different. Where would I go?"

She reached for his hand. "Peter, where are you?"

"Where I feel the safest."

Her chest was growing tight. It was as if her mind was grasping for memories of him, as if they were fading.

"You can't wait much longer. We don't have a lot of time." He twisted in his seat so that his body was facing her, and his free hand was splayed along her cheek. "I can't lose you again."

She didn't know what he meant, and as he began to glimmer, she murmured, "Peter…"

He was gone, and she was still perplexed. But, at least he now knew where she was going.

The Bishop's lake house.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

* * *

><p>Chapter Seven<p>

No one had been inside for years, because here, with this changed past, Walter hadn't been inside it since his wife had died. She noticed a slight shimmer to the air as she searched for an opening. The doors and windows were locked and closed, except for one. A window leading into the basement was broken, and if she cleared the glass shards away, she supposed she could slip inside.

The interior was unkempt from disuse, and her feet made depressions in nearly two inches of dust on the floor as she walked. The basement was filled with all sorts of machinery—apparently, Walter had transformed it into a makeshift laboratory. There was nothing that would be use to her down here, though, not unless there was a sensory-deprivation tank, of which it looked like there was none. She climbed the stairs, yanked open the door that led to the next level.

The furnishings told of someone who cared about their living space, and yet, it was strangely disjointed. The only pictures were of the Bishop couple, and yet, only in a few did the two look truly happy. It seemed that, without Peter, they were still just as dysfunctional as they had been with him. In the corner of what she assumed to be the living room, there was a piano covered by a sheet. It was strange, because as far as she knew, Walter did not play, and neither had his wife. The only Bishop who did was Peter, and yet, Peter did not exist here.

Before she could continue her search, her cell phone rang, and she froze. They'd been alerted that she'd escaped from the hospital; otherwise, they wouldn't have called her cell phone. But, she answered anyway, because she figured if they had something to offer to help, she'd take it, because she really had no idea what else to do. Peter didn't seem to be here.

It was Astrid. "Olivia, where are you? The hospital called us—why would you leave?"

"I needed to. I couldn't stay there any longer." She sighed, her free hand going up to run through her hair. "Listen, Astrid. There's someone I need to find."

"Olivia, the world is ending, and you're running around trying to _find_ someone?" Astrid sounded uncharacteristically exasperated. Normally, she was always the voice of reason; the one who could always be counted on to be rational, even in the most stressful times.

"It's too hard to explain. But there's nothing I can do to help there, anyway."

"You sound different. What's going on? Why won't you let us help you?"

"Astrid…"

"Hold on a second. Broyles wants to talk to you."

One part of her wanted to hang up, if only to continue on her way, but another part of her didn't want to, if only to hang onto something that was familiar, that was friendly. Because now, she wasn't quite sure where this twisted path was heading, and she wasn't looking forward to going on with it alone.

"Dunham, there's no time for this. I'm not going to force you back into the hospital, but you need to get back here."

"I really would, but I can't."

"What is this about? Who are you looking for?" A pause, and then, "Is it Peter you're looking for? Astrid told us that you said his name when you woke up—who is he?"

"I can't get into it right now."

"I think with all that we've seen, I'm going to be able to understand whatever you're doing now."

Olivia snorted. "Sir, with all due respect, I don't think you can."

"You do know that we're not going to stop looking for you, don't you, Dunham? That we're trying to track your phone right now?"

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

"I hope your guy is worth is."

A half-smirk crossed her face, remembering those exact words coming from another's mouth, those few years ago. "He is."

Then, she ended the call, and tossed the phone to the floor. Her boot came down on it with a _crunch_, and it broke into pieces. There. Now she was completely alone; though, she _was_ hoping for Peter to show up again, to lead her to him. It didn't seem as if this was going to be that easy. It never was.

The house held nothing of interest for her. Why had she come here in the first place? Why had she been so sure it was the next step? It had been a sort of innate feeling, and yet, it seemed as if her intuition had been wrong. She left through the front door, and got back into her car. She began to drive, if only for the illusion that she was headed somewhere.

A sign came up after a little while of driving—'Reiden Lake'. She knew that it was significant, and it wouldn't hurt to take a look. It looked as if the lightning storms hadn't quite made their way here just yet, and the air was calm. It was almost eerily quiet; the only sound the sweet tweeting of birds, and her feet as she trekked along the damp ground to the edge of the lake.

Her reflection stared back at her in the still water, slightly distorted by the surface. There was nothing here. How could she have thought it would be so easy, that she could just come here and Peter would be waiting for her? She leaned back on her heels, her hands deep in her pockets, and closed her eyes. Perhaps she could just stay here, just wait for the end of the world. Perhaps he wasn't real—she'd merely conjured up the memories, and she really _was_ going crazy. Maybe it was just her mind's own attempt to cope with the end of the world.

She heard her name behind her, just a whisper at first.

"Olivia."

There was a loud crash of sound, as if the world had suddenly come back to life. Her eyes sprung open, but before she could even turn around, something cold was pressed to her temple. There was the sound of a gun being cocked, and then he asked,

"What is it that you said to me, the morning before I tried to enter the machine?"

"What's going on—?"

"Answer me!" His voice was harsh, but his tone also held quite a bit of hesitancy.

"I told you about the sunrise, that it's my favorite time of day."

She heard him sigh, then she was wrapped in a pair of arms that nearly crushed the breath from her.

"Oh God, Olivia. I'm sorry, I just needed to make sure it was you."

She felt disoriented; dizzy, as if she'd just woken from a too-short nap. But, the scent that filled her nose and the arms around her body were so very familiar, and without a second thought, she returned the embrace.

"Peter."

She wished they could've stayed like that for an eternity, because it felt so safe and right, but another loud crash brought them both back to the harsh reality. Peter held her at an arm's length, taking in her face—her wind-tousled hair, her reddened cheeks. He was the same Peter she'd always known, and yet, his eyes held something she'd never seen before. It was as if he'd grown old, and seen more than it would've been possible in his age. They held the same haunted look Walter's did; a look she knew that she must portray in a similar way as well.

"Mind telling me what happened?" she said, and the words came out jumbled between her lips, because her tongue could barely move through the shock. As a third crash sounded, he took her hand.

"I'll explain as much as I can, but not here." He couldn't help the smile that came across his face for a moment, before he pulled her with her, toward the road.

She was beginning to realize what must've happened on her own, as she took in the sight around them while their pace quickened. The sky was not the blue it had been just moments ago; it was an ugly gray, and the birds had ceased their singing.

He pulled her along to a car on the side of the road, and, he took the time to open the passenger door for her before bolting around the vehicle to the driver's side. As soon as they were both safely inside, he gunned the engine, and took off down the road with no concern for the speed limit.

"I'm not in our universe anymore, am I?" she asked, and her voice was quiet, almost calm, despite their situation.

Peter shook his head, his eyes hooked on the road. He feared if he took them off just for a moment to look at her, he would never be able to tear himself away. "No. I was just waiting near the lake—I didn't even know if you were going to be able to cross over or not. I couldn't believe it when I looked over and saw you standing there."

"This isn't the Other Side, though. Not the same one we've been dealing with all this time."

Again, he shook his head. "No. It's a third universe. I'm sorry about the gun—God, I'm sorry. But, when I first came here, I looked for you, because I had no idea where I was or what was going on. I found you, but it wasn't really you; it was another alternate. And, it turns out that, sometimes, our alternates are very different people. I had to make sure it was really you, 'Livia."

"I understand." She pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. "Peter, what the hell is going on? Why did you just…vanish?"

"I'm not sure." He looked over at her at last, and took her hand in one of his, relishing his tight grip on the steering wheel. "I've seen so much…I don't know why or how, but I've been traveling, Olivia. I've seen a lot."

"You came to me."

He nodded. "Yes. But it wasn't just then. When you were Over There—"

"That was you, too?" It made sense, now that she thought about it.

"Well, not me, physically. But, it was a manifestation of my consciousness. We're more closely linked that I could've ever imagined, 'Livia. And I saw different outcomes; I couldn't just let you stay on the Other Side and be used as Walternate's plaything. And I definitely couldn't just sit back and watch as our world was torn apart."

"The Observer said he made a mistake, that you weren't supposed to be gone."

"I guess he's right, then." She watched as his brow creased, creating deep grooves in his forehead, and again, he looked so _old_. "I think I understand everything better, now. Walter sent the Machine back in time, though I'm still not sure why. We were meant to find it, but we were supposed to be the ones to turn it on—not Walternate. It was his activation of the Machine that set the end of the world in motion. It may be Walter's fault that the war between universes started in the first place, but it's Walternate's fault that his universe was destroyed." He paused, and smiled. "But, I think I know what we need to do."

"What's that?"

"We need to stop Walternate from turning on the Machine in the first place."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: The chapters will take a bit longer for me to get up, now-no more daily updates, sorry-but I'm getting really busy as school is ending, and I just started a new job. But, I'll try to be as hasty as possible, without reducing quality. Thank you so much to everyone who is reading. And, don't forget to review, and don't be shy! Tell me what you want to see happen next! I'm always open for ideas and suggestions.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Eight<p>

"And how are we supposed to do that?"

Silence filled the car, and Peter's eyes were once again focused on the long stretch of road in front of them. His hand, however, had not left hers.

"I don't know. I don't even know how to get out of here, 'Livia."

"I don't expect you to have all the answers, Peter." Her thumb stoked the back of his hand; a simple comforting gesture, though it meant more to him than she could ever realize. "I wish I had more to offer myself."

The car pulled up to the lake house; it looked the same, and yet, this building was tidier, as if someone had cared enough to take care of it, even when no one was living inside.

"This is the only place I felt safe," said Peter softly. "And, the only place I could hide without being found."

"Found by who?"

He shook his head. "Long story." He gestured toward the front door. "Let's just go inside first."

The air was choked with smoke, and Olivia wondered if the imminent end of one universe meant that others were disintegrating as well. They stood in the foyer once the door was closed behind them, and after a moment, Peter turned to Olivia, and reached out for her. To hell with it all, if it meant Peter existed, then she didn't care which universe it was in. His hands gripped her coat, and his lips pressed first to her forehead, then to her own lips.

"How did you remember me?"

She rested her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes. "I don't know. I got hit on the head…" Her fingers brushed against the scratches on her face. "That's where these came from."

"I was just about to ask about that." She had a feeling that he wasn't telling her something; the longing and haunted look in her eyes told so much more than his mouth was. "You're alright?"

"I'm fine." Another crash sounded, and they both cringed a bit. "I will be, at least, once we figure out what we're going to do."

#

Peter made them both coffee, and if not for the fact that he'd been in nonexistence for the last few weeks, and that they were in an alternate universe, it would've felt like any other day. He couldn't keep his hands off of her, and it was only in the most innocent of ways—as they sat at the kitchen table, his hand found hers again, and he didn't let go as they spoke.

"Peter, who's looking for you here?"

He sighed. "Remember what I said, about finding you, or a version of you, when I first came here?" She nodded. "Well, it turns out, your counterpart here is not-so-nice. This universe is…strange. It seems so similar to ours, and yet, it's different. Really different. I don't know if they're looking for me now, because they might be preoccupied with everything else that's going on here."

"A kind of war?" she said, her brows furrowing. "That's what those noises outside are, aren't they?"

"I think so, yeah." He glanced down at their entwined hands, and she saw his face twist again into such an expression of despair, and disbelief. "This is a halfway point, I think. A limbo. This is where we were supposed to find each other, but, now that we have, there's nothing here for us. We can't stay here."

"I don't think that was our intention." She gave a gentle squeeze of his hand, but he didn't look up. "Peter." He did now. Those eyes that she'd looked into so many times—there was something different about them, almost distant. "Peter, tell me what's wrong."

"What do you think is wrong, 'Livia? I don't know how we're supposed to get out of here, to try and stop Walternate from turning on the Machine in the first place, which means traveling back in time. Traveling to different universes seems like a piece of cake compared to that."

She shook her head. She knew him; she'd always been good at reading people, and him even more so. They'd spent too much time together for her to be content with his words. "That's not it. I know that's our problem, but that's not why you're acting like this, Peter. What happened when you were inside the Machine? Does it have to do with that?"

He turned toward her, his eyes unmoving from hers. "Yes, it does." There was such pain on his face, and as he leaned forward, she swore she could see the slightest hint of tears in the corner of his eyes. Peter had seen her cry; it had never been the other way around. "I don't even know how to put it into words, 'Livia. It's not just our universe that's screwed up—it's all of them. And I don't know how it happened, but I've seen so much more than I should've." He paused. "I don't know how Walter did it, but when I was in the Machine, I saw the future."

"So," said Olivia, in an attempt to grasp at what he was saying, "the Machine allowed you to travel forward through time? Then, couldn't we somehow utilize it to bring us back to before Walternate activated it?"

"No, I don't think it works like that. I didn't travel forward. I traveled _backward_. Back to the Machine."

"I don't understand."

"I don't, either. Not really. But, Walter tried to explain it to me, in the future. He said he would bring my consciousness forward, to see what the future would be like if the Other Side was destroyed. I lived that life, though. I remember all of it." He gripped her hand more tightly. "I was right when I said what we looked like together was beautiful." His words filled her chest with warmth, and yet, he wasn't finished speaking. She knew there was more. "We were the only good thing about that future." His free hand, his left, came together in a fist, and his thumb rubbed over his ring finger. She supposed he remembered a ring there.

It shouldn't have surprised her, that they would stay together, and yet, that was only one vision of the future that he'd lived. There were many branches, as Walter said, all influenced by their decisions. She couldn't imagine a future without Peter, and yet, she knew that it was certainly possible.

"We can't allow that future to become our reality, Olivia. We have to change it."

"_Why_, Peter?" she urged. "What happened?"

"Walter was in jail. He was the enemy of the entire world for what he'd done, even though it hadn't been intentional!" His voice rose; his face tightened, as if he were attempting to hide his emotions, though his voice betrayed his efforts. "Walternate had survived. He came over from his universe before it was destroyed. He led me here…" He blinked a couple of times. "I don't feel safe here, but I knew you wouldn't know to come here unless I said that. I'm here because I want to change what happened, and—"

"Peter, please. _What happened_?"

"He killed you." His hand was cutting off her circulation, but she hadn't noticed. No, instead, her eyes were glued to his face, as he nearly broke down in front of her. She'd never seen him like this—in such despondency—and all she could do was sit there, listening as he spoke. "Walternate killed you, and I couldn't stop him. I was so stupid, and I should've—!" His hand went up to cover his face. "I should've done something!"

Olivia got out of her seat and knelt in front of him, now gripping his face, her hands splayed across his cheeks. She could feel his tears, and she said, "Peter, come on. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. We're going to stop Walternate, and make sure none of that happens."

He sniffled, trying to suppress the emotions pouring out of him, but he couldn't. So, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, burying his face in the slope of her shoulder. "I had you back for those few moments, and then you were gone again." His voice was just a whisper. He could barely speak through the lump in his throat. He had thought he would never feel her in his arms again; hear her voice; smell her scent. It was wonderful and bittersweet, because although they were again together, and she was surely real, there was so much they still had to face.

"We have each other, now." His hands curled into her jacket. She was his life preserver; it was as if he let go, he would float off to sea. He had always been traveling, until he met her. She was his rock, and he had no idea how he would ever manage without her. Their potential future was something he never wanted to face again. She was right, though. It could be changed.

No, it _would _be changed, and he would make sure of it.

He was beginning to calm down, though he still did not want to let her go, and so they stayed in that somewhat-uncomfortable position, with her half-kneeling, half-standing between his legs, and his face still hidden in her shoulder as he composed himself.

"I promise, Peter, whatever happens next, we'll make sure to get through it together. Neither of us is going anywhere."

He nodded, his hair brushing her chin, and he could feel her lips press to the top of his head. It was so quiet, as if this universe had stopped its fighting to give them a moment of peace.

Then, there was a knock at the door.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Thank you to everyone reading and reviewing. Don't forget to review and tell me what you think! There was only one review last chapter, which is a bit discouraging, but of course, I'm going to continue to write, so you don't have to worry! Tell me what you want to see happen next! I'm always open for ideas and suggestions.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Nine<p>

They separated, quite reluctantly, and both stood, turned toward the door. Perhaps it had been a mistake—who would be knocking on their door? Who would know they were there? From the looks of it, the place had been empty for a while before Peter had come upon it, and no one else was around. Olivia was glad she still had her gun, and removed it from its holster as the two of them crept toward the door. The knock sounded again, this time louder, and Peter was cursing the fact that the door had neither a peephole nor a window. Olivia gesture for him to stand to the side as she moved toward the door, and, after a moment, pulled it open, her gun at eye-level.

There stood the Observer, stone-faced as always.

"I'm pleased to see that you found each other," he said. "But you cannot stay here much longer."

"Yeah," scoffed Peter, "we assumed as much. But, it'd sure be nice if you told us how."

The Observer took a step backward. "Come with me."

Peter glanced at Olivia; she nodded, and so, the two of them moved forward, following the bald man. He led them toward the edge of the forest, until Peter spoke up again.

"No further," he said. The Observing had just the hint of a look of puzzlement on his face; strange, because it was the only sign of emotion either of them had ever seen him display. "We're not moving any further until you tell us how you're going to help."

"There is no time."

Olivia watched as Peter frowned, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists at his side. "Time? Well, time is exactly our issue, but if we're going to follow you through the forest, then I want to know how exactly this is going to help with our time management."

The Observer did not blink, did not avoid eye contact with Peter. He looked entirely unintimidated, which was the exact opposite reaction Peter had been attempting to elicit. "You are more powerful than you think, Peter Bishop. You both are special. Do you know why?" Neither said anything, so the Observer continued, "It is because you two are the only Peter and Olivia that are together. No other universe has the same combination. There is a very rare occasion; something like this is quite improbable, but you both have beaten the odds."

"That's wonderful to hear." She had seen his façade fade for just a moment, but the harsh tone to his voice was back just as quickly. "But, you're avoiding the question."

"I'm not. But, my intrusion has caused many problems. I am trying to help you as much as I can without causing more damage to any universe. I should not be helping you, but I must fix this problem. And, helping you is the only way I can. You must listen to me, though."

"But what did you mean?" Peter was obviously still content with none of this. "What did you mean when you said that 'I am more powerful than I think'?"

"The Machine is only a vehicle for what you both are able to do." His gaze flickered to Olivia. "You have always known that she is special, that her abilities are extraordinary. But, she is not the only one. That is why you cannot cease to exist, because neither of you can exist without the other. Your disappearance caused an imbalance, and this imbalance must be fixed."

"The only way we know how to do that is to stop Walternate from turning on the Machine," said Olivia, stepping forward. "But we would need to travel through time to do that."

"I exist in every time only because I am able to comprehend that time is non-linear. As much as you wish, you are not able to do the same."

"So," Peter said, through gritted teeth, "you're saying that we can't fix this?"

"No, that is incorrect. You have already traveled through time."

"That was my consciousness."

"Traveling through time is not much different than traveling to different universes, which you both have experience with." The Observer glanced at the sky; it was dark, ominous. "You must simply be able to wrap your mind around the idea. Who are you to say whether it was your consciousness, or your whole being, if you cannot understand its entirety?"

Olivia took a gentle hold on Peter's arm as she saw him tense. It would do him no good to lash out at the Observer; he wouldn't be able to do any damage anyway, she assumed, and she knew that the Observer was more than able to hurt them just as badly. And so, he attacked with words,

"You said you would help us."

"And by me helping you, you are helping me."

"But you have to tell us _how_."

"I cannot do that. It is innate. Together, you both can do anything." His eyes moved from the sky to the forest, where, beyond it, laid the lake. "The lake would be a suitable place to start."

"The lake?" Peter turned to look at Olivia, and she looked at him. Reiden Lake in the two universes had been a place of significance; was it possible that here, too, it would be important? "But what about once we get there—?" He cut him words short when, as he turned back to the Observer, he saw nothing but the trees in front of them. "Wonderful. He's gone."

Olivia's hand wandered from his arm to clasp around his own. "Didn't you hear what he said, though? We can do this, _together_."

#

The trek through the forest was arduous, but at least it provided them necessary cover from the road, where they could hear vehicles buzzing along, oblivious to their presence. This hostile world was unsafe, and both were looking forward to leaving, despite the fact that they knew their journey was far from over. Any steps forward were good progress.

Just as they came to the opposite edge of the forest, where they could see the shore of the lake a little ways off, they could hear voices coming from the opposite way. Peter grabbed Olivia's hand.

"What do we do?"

Her other hand went to her gun. "Wait here until they pass."

They waited, but the voices did not get any further away, and they both became aware that the temperature had dropped quite a bit since the last time they had been outside. From a distance, they could see that the lake was frozen over. Had it been earlier? Olivia couldn't remember.

The voices were getting closer, and they could hear footsteps tromping through the thick growth.

"Over here! There's something over here!"  
>"I'm not picking up anything."<p>

"Well, I am! You're really going to argue with me?"

Peter tensed. "They're right behind us."

"We can't just run," hissed Olivia, peering over her shoulder, "we have to get to the lake."

"But that won't help anything if they kill us before we can reach it."

"Why are they looking for us in the first place?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. But, I don't want to wait and see."

"OVER HERE!" The voices were just behind them, though the trees hid them from view. "They're real close!"

"We can't just sit here!"

Olivia dropped his hand. "Run."

He couldn't ask her 'where to?' because she had already taken off, and so, he had no choice but to follow. The voices followed them, though they took on black-clothed figures now, shouting at the two of them to stop. They didn't.

Olivia's coat flapped around her legs, and she gripped her gun, letting loose a couple of bullets as she ran, though neither hit their target. Peter was right beside her, not wanting to overtake her, for fear of leaving her behind. They were closing on the lake, and though its surface was frozen, there was no telling whether it would hold their weight or not. But their foes didn't slow, and so they had no choice but to continue their chase on the lake, lest they wanted to be caught.

Peter became aware of a crackling sound beneath his feet, as well as the telltale whirring as a bullet sliced through the air just inches from his ear. He called Olivia's name, but it was futile—there was nowhere to go; they could only continue forward. He managed to twist his head, to crane his neck to see that the others hadn't followed them onto the lake, and instead stood at the shore, taking aim at them. It was ridiculous, because they hadn't even presented themselves as a threat, and yet he had long ago concluded that this universe was full of irrationalities.

Then, the world collapsed beneath their feet. They dropped down into the freezing water below, almost as if the ice had swallowed them. Peter waved his arms in a desperate attempt to reach the surface, but it was no use. The two of them were like heavy weights, their clothes dragging them further toward the depths of the lake, and no matter what they did to prevent it, the surface only grew father away. Olivia felt him clutch around the waste, pulling her tight. She opened her eyes, though his were squeezed shut.

They were going to die here, in the bottom of Reiden Lake in this hellhole of a universe.

She held onto him more tightly than she ever had, fighting against the blackness that clouded the edges of her vision, and the pain ballooning in her chests as her lungs fought against the lack of oxygen. Her body had gone numb from the extreme water temperature, though at one moment, she could feel the water around them turn quite a few degrees warmer. Just as her consciousness had begun to fade, she felt a tug on the collar of her jacket, and she was yanked upward. She had no idea how or why; she only knew that Peter was motionless in her arms, and she had resolved to die. It was fine, as long as they were together, as long as she had found him. It seemed the cosmos had a different idea in mind.

Peter, too, had begun to fight again, by a sudden burst of energy. With one hand still wrapped around Olivia, the other pushed them upward. His eyes stung, but he kept them open. By some miracle, the ice was gone, and their heads broke the still water, gasping for breath. In a final spurt of adrenaline, they made it to the shore, where they crawled onto the land, and collapsed beside each other.

Peter's hands were cupped around her face, and his forehead rested against hers. The air here was warmed, and there were no gunshots or explosions—only darkness and silence. Though they were both shivering, they were both also very much alive.

"What the _hell _just happened?" Peter murmured, his words barely discernible through chattering teeth. Olivia did not answer; she merely glanced at the sky.

A single zeppelin drifted among the stars.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I wasn't quite sure where this was headed, but I sure had fun writing it. Don't worry, there is plenty of action still coming up. Thank you to everyone reading and reviewing, and don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter. Remember, suggestions, ideas, etc. are always welcome!<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Ten<p>

He was worried about hypothermia; she was worried about their mere location. Olivia was still shivering away, though the shared body heat between the two of them was helping, as Peter clutched her to his chest.

"A zeppelin…" she murmured. "Only once place would have a zeppelin flying around in the middle of the night. I know where we are."

Peter nodded, sighing heavily. "So do I."

She made an attempt to stand, wavering slightly on unsteady legs, and Peter got up beside her. The area seemed to be clear.

"If I'm right," she said, "then the lake house will be empty here, too."

"It should be. Let's head there, warm up, and we can think of a plan."

How interesting it was, that they always seemed to be drawn back to the lake house, no matter what universe they were in. Peter shook off a violent shiver, and not because of the cold, but because of his residual memories from the future. The lake house had been the setting of his confrontation with Walternate, and he would have preferred to be somewhere where the memories wouldn't be haunting him, but he knew it was the best choice at the moment.

It took them a while to get there, because of the lack of energy and their stiff limbs, though they did make it at last. Olivia reached for her gun, but found that her holster was empty.

"Where'd it go?" Peter said.

"I must've lost it when we fell into the lake." She frowned. "Just follow me, and be careful. It looks empty, but…" She didn't have to finish her sentence; he knew that the precautions were necessary for their survival. They crept around the perimeter of the house, peering into windows, listening for movement, but it certainly seemed to be empty. A cursory check of all the rooms once they made it inside deemed that to be true. They were alone.

Peter had been all for heading to the bathroom, to get under some hot water, but Olivia, instead, went to the living room and switched on the television. The screen was grainy, but she found that it was suitable for her needs. The entire house was surprisingly well-taken care of.

"What're you doing?"

She sank down onto the couch, her face blank. "I don't know what happened out there, in the lake. We're playing with the rules of time and space, Peter. I want to make sure we made it to where we wanted to."

He sat beside her, one hand resting on her knee, as she switched to a news channel. The reporter was speaking about some trivial information, and neither of them was interested. No, what interested them was the date at the top of the screen.

"It's two days before Walternate turned on the Machine," breathed Olivia, incredulous. "I can't believe it. We actually have time, now."

"This must've been what the Observer meant when he said that the Machine was only a vehicle for what we can do." He snorted. "Well, whatever power allowed us to come here, we made it. And, we have two days. We have time to rest."

"Rest?" she repeated, and he chuckled softly, rubbing his hand along her thigh.

"I don't know about you, 'Livia, but I'm tired. It feels as if we've been on the run the entire day. And, I could use a warm shower."

He had hoped that she would respond with some sort of positive reaction, but it seemed that was too optimistic.

"I can't even think about stopping," she said. "I never imagined we would ever be in this sort of situation, and now that we are, all I want to do it stop Walternate from turning on the Machine. I can't just sit around, when I know that, in two days, the fate of our worlds are again at stake."

"Olivia, you said it yourself: we have two days. Now, of course, I want this to all be over, too. But, that's not going to happen unless we're well rested. First thing tomorrow morning we can start, but right now, I think it's important that we just settle down for a little bit." He pulled her close to him, and felt her go limp in his arms. "You're almost frozen solid, Olivia. Let's just get warm, alright?"

She nodded, still silent, suddenly drained of energy. He was right; it did feel as if they had been running for a long while. Her entire body was exhausted, and all she wanted to do was sleep, but not in her wet clothes, which stuck to her like a second skin.

This was strange to him, a sense of déjà vu, and yet he knew he'd been here before, when he was much younger. It felt wrong, to be exploiting the house like this, and yet, his animosity toward his father pushed away most of his feelings of guilt. Sure, Olivia was with him now, but those residual memories of the time without her, when her body had been set out on the water, would haunt him forevermore. And now, he didn't want to risk their lives, to venture out and attempt to stop Walternate. He would've preferred to stay here with her, to ensure their safety. But, that wasn't going to happen. At least they had one night together, and if anything, he was going to take full advantage of it.

The bathroom was stocked, another reminder that this wasn't their universe, and that they were merely visitors. Visitors, because it was their hope that they could right the wrongs, and then make their way back to their own universe, where they belonged.

Peter shed his sweater, and peeled off his shoes and socks. Olivia, however, once freed of her coat and boots, couldn't unbutton her blouse; her hands were shaking so violently. Whether it was from the cold or something else, he didn't know, but he reached over to help her. He watched her face; her eyes were narrowed, her lips pressed together—she was angry, or agitated, he wasn't sure.

"What's wrong?" He felt as if he had asked too many questions today.

"How is this real?" She moved away from his hands, leaning back against the countertop. "I can't even think about how this all was set into motion, now. But, just hours ago, you weren't even real. I didn't remember you. And those memories are still there, but they're fading, and I don't know…What if none of this is real? What if _you're_ not real?"

"Olivia." He said her name firmly, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close, resisting her efforts to move away. "I know you're confused. I was too, and I still am. I don't know why exactly this is happening, or why it's all up to us. I just know that it _is_, and that we're important. But, I can assure you, I'm very real." He bent down ever so slightly, pressing his lips first against her temple, then to her cheek. "Those memories without me are what're wrong. I'm here now, Olivia, and I'm not about to leave."

If he knew at all what she was feeling, it was like walking through a dream world. He'd experienced it; the entirety of his "non-existence" had felt like that, and it still did now. Until they had this all figured out, no one except Olivia would remember him. But, perhaps it was better that way, at least until they had the problem fixed, to spare the others anxiety over him.

She didn't move away after that, having seemingly ceded to his words. His lips close to her ear as he moved one hand to unbutton her blouse, he murmured, "Let's just make the most of tonight."

It felt wrong, to be here, in his old lake house, doing such things, but if it was their only respite, then they were going to take full benefit.

They stripped quickly, glad to be rid of their wet clothes, and stepped under the pounding water of the shower. It was like a shock to both of their systems—the change in temperature was certainly not unpleasant, though, and they stood there for a few moments, quelling their shivering bodies.

This wasn't the first time they had been together like this; in fact, showering had turned into a favorite pastime of theirs. But, now, they drank each other in, Olivia's head against Peter's chest, and his hands rubbing along her back. It was as if they had been separated for years at a time, and to Peter, it felt as if that had been the case. He felt like an old man trapped in a younger man's body, and it was a peculiar feeling.

Olivia's hands drew him out of his thoughts, her fingers dancing across his waist, her eyes still closed against his chest. He reached over for the soap, and lathered it onto his palms. She sighed as he began to ease the tight knots in her shoulders and neck. As he did so, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, before he said,

"You said you remember what it was like without me, too." She nodded, her hair tickling his chest. "Was it different?" She knew why he was asking; it was natural human curiosity, though pertaining to such an unnatural situations.

"Yes." It seemed that it was all she was going to say, and he didn't want to press her if she didn't want to speak. But, she did, at last, continued, "Walter still crossed over all those years ago, though it was for a different reason. He was less empathetic without a son, and we never grew as close. I had never realized how close we are, until that bond was gone. When I remember, it was like I was detached from everyone, that they were all strangers."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. None of this is your fault."

"Who's is it? I mean, was it Walter that sealed the fate of the universes, or did it start even before that, before he created the Machine and sent it back in time?" His hands were still on her back, though he wasn't focused on his motions. His voice had a tinge of anger to it, and confusion.

"It doesn't matter, now. We're here to change one event, and that's it. Then, we'll let everything else figure itself out."

One of his hands came up to cup her jaw, trailing his fingers along the scratches on her cheek. There was a wrinkle in his brow, and she said, "It doesn't hurt anymore."

He cocked a brow, chuckling. "That's just like you. Denying your pain."

She closed her eyes against his touch. "Really. I'm fine."

She could feel his hands move downward then, to her lower back, pressing her against him. "I missed you," he said. "God, Olivia, I missed you so much."

"I'm here," she said, softly, almost inaudibly.

And they stood there, pressed flush together, in such a proximity that felt so _right_. The water had warmed them; they were comfortable, even in such a foreign situation.

There was a reason Olivia had been nicknamed 'Han' in college. It hadn't been that she was a longer. Rather, she had friends, but she had kept every one of them at an arm's length. Allowing people to get close to her meant that she would have to be vulnerable, and to rely on them, and she didn't want that.

Peter was the first person, sans her sister, who she could ever truly call her best friend. She had always thought that the best relationships spawned from friendship, and this was no different. With John, it had only been lust, and that temporary "love" that had really turned out to be nothing like she had with Peter, because their relationship had been so different. She allowed Peter to see through her mask, to pry into the cracks of the walls that surrounded her. Vulnerability was still a problem of hers, but he had helped her.

She was still the independent person she had always been, but now, she didn't have to always rely on herself. If that had been the case, she would have never made it as far as she had on this journey.

Spending an eternity under the scalding water of the shower certainly seemed like a preferable future, but they did eventually make it out, wrapping themselves in towels found in a side closet. And then Peter pulled her close again, their lips meeting, his hands tangled in her hair. She moved away after a while, her face pleasantly flushed, and murmured wryly, breathlessly,

"I'm going to find a dryer…see if we can get our clothes dry…"

He sighed, and watched her leave with her arms full of their clothing. He stood there for a moment, cooling himself down. To be with her like this, after experiencing her death and its aftermath, was as if he had woken up from a terrible nightmare. And now, he couldn't stand to be separated from her, even for the slightest moment. Just that day, they had battled death and freezing temperatures, and they could only guess what tomorrow would bring. It was why that night was so special, because for all they knew, their efforts could fail, and even act as a catalyst for the end of the world.

It would be inappropriate, he thought, to sleep in any room but the guest bedroom, far at the end of the hall from the others. It was wonderful, though, that the house was so well taken care of, almost as if it had been waiting for them. They would have to be careful, though; perhaps the reason the lake house was so nicely stocked and cleaned was because the Secretary—his father—would be visiting soon. He could only hope that the visit would not be beginning that night.

He was readying the bed, the towel just barely clinging to his waist, when he heard Olivia enter, and then her hands on his back. Wordlessly, he turned around, and immediately she set her hands on his shoulders, pushing him down onto the bed, meeting him there. The towels fell away, replaced by sheets, and the warmth of their skin.

Perhaps it was quantum entanglement that was the reason why they felt so connection, such a need for each other. _One cannot exist without the other. _For them, it wasn't purely the physical aspect that was important to their intimacy—it never had been. It was the connection, their being together in such a way that had them craving more each time. And now, it was the longing that brought them together, the want, the _need_ to be close. It was tangled limbs and rushed breaths, quiet sounds of contentment.

William Bell had once told her that she had never truly felt safe. That was true, but the safest she felt was when she was with Peter—_nearly_ all doubt, and all fear, was erased when she was with him. And for him, it meant not having to run anymore. He had always been running, chasing after himself, because he had never found it until Olivia. They were important to each other, there was no denying.

In this foreign universe, this house that felt so familiar but wasn't, they were the only source of security for each other. They clung to each other without abandon, feeding off the warmth and comfort. There was physical pleasure, but beyond that, there was so much more. It was as if the entirety of their feelings for each other were wrapped up into actions—nuances of touch and sound. They needed this, because, no matter where they were in this universe, which held nothing but bad memories, they had each other. With each other, they were home.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who's reading and reviewing. Don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter, and remember, I'm always up for suggestions, too!<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Eleven<p>

Olivia woke before him, at first groggy and unsure of her surroundings. When she came to her senses, she untangled herself from him, glad that he didn't wake as she slipped out of bed. Through the window, she could see that it was still dark, which was a good sign, because they would need to be heading out as early as possible. Her body cried for her to stay in bed, to stay with him, but she knew she couldn't do that.

She had dressed, laid his clothes out on the bed, and began to prepare breakfast, and, nearly an hour later, he still hadn't woken—or so she thought. She'd gone back to the bedroom to wake him, and found that he wasn't in bed, and his clothes were gone. She called his name out, but there was no answer. A tightness in her chest began to form as she padded down the hallway, though it faded when she saw him standing motionless in front of a doorway. His eyes flickered toward her, acknowledging her presence, but then they moved back to focus on whatever was through the doorway. She came up next to him, and looked inside.

It must've been his old room, filled with mementos; reminders of his short time lived here, before he'd been taken. She slipped her hand into his, squeezing gently, and asked,

"You alright?"

He nodded, looking at her at last. "Yeah. It's just strange." But then he smiled, and that bit of nostalgia was over, and he leaned over and kissed her. "Why didn't you wake me?" His nose just inches from hers, pressed against her cheek, he added, "Is that…bacon I smell?"

"Courtesy of the Secretary. Though, we should probably eat and leave. He's notified about everything; I wouldn't be surprised if he eventually finds out about the electricity use here."

And so, over the breakfast Olivia had prepared (but no coffee, of course; this universe didn't have coffee), they talked strategy.

"We can't just go and talk to him. It's next-to-impossible to get both onto and off Liberty Island without clearance."

Peter was thoroughly enjoying his breakfast, so it took him a while to answer with, "Well then, we need to find someone that can help us."

Olivia scoffed, shaking her head. "Peter, who do you think is going to help us? Walternate wants to destroy our universe, and I'm sure he's got plenty more rooting for just that."

Peter's shoulders slumped forward; she could tell that he was about to say something she wasn't necessarily going to want to hear. "The people here are different than the people in our universe, but essentially, they all started out as the same people. Meaning, your alternate is fundamentally the same person as you are. It's the nature vs. nurture argument, and here, it's the nurture that's changed who she is, and why she's different from you. But, if there's one thing I know about the both of you—" And here he paused, moving his hand to cover hers. "—is that you will both fight to the end for your cause. If we can convince the other Olivia that attempting to destroy our universe will only turn out badly, then maybe she'll help us."

She had to shake off the doubt she felt, the thoughts that told her he only wanted to ask for her help so he could see her again. Because she knew Peter wasn't like that; he wasn't going to, after all they'd been through together, both before and after her time Over There, go back to the woman who, though she was simply another version of herself, had deceived him.

"Okay," she said at last. "Okay. We'll ask her for help."

#

"Sir?"

A door banged open, then shut, but the Secretary didn't flinch from his spot at the window, overlooking the city. Instead, he merely turned his head slightly to the side.

"Knocking would have been appropriate, I think."

It was a man who he didn't recognize, though he was sure he must've had some sort of important job, if he had the clearance to barge into his office. Rude, too, because he said, unapologetically, "Your house near Reiden Lake is showing some unexpected signs of activity, Mr. Secretary."

"Activity?" Now, he took a moment to face the man, his brows furrowed; the only outward sign of emotion. "Meaning what?"

"It seems as if someone's been using the house."

He gave a shrug of nonchalance. "Well, handle it, then."

#

The means by which they were going to actually reach the city was a bit of a problem. But, there were no vehicles they had access to, and the city was too far to walk.

They stood on the porch, ruminating, until Olivia said suddenly,

"I know someone that can give us a ride."

Peter was surprised. "You _know_ someone?"

She nodded, and he followed her back inside as she headed for the phone. "There was a taxi driver who helped me try to escape when I was here the first time. I had given him my number, and I think I can remember his as well…" She trailed off, her face screwed up in thought, and Peter stood there in awe.

"That eidetic memory and knack for numbers really comes in help, huh?"

She shot him a sly grin, then turned her attention back to the call. Her expression brightened as the line connected.

"Henry? It's Olivia Dunham. Remember me?...No, the _other _Olivia Dunham…Strange news? How so?...Oh, alright…" Peter attempted to follow the conversation, though he was unsuccessful, and after Olivia had given Henry their address and ended the call, he started in.

"What's the strange news?"

"I don't know. He said he didn't have time to explain, but he agreed to come and help us."

"Does he owe you a favor or something?"

"No. Actually, I'm the one who owes him a favor. A _huge_ favor." She looked wistful, her eyes focused not on something in front of her, but on a memory. He pulled her out of it, wrapping his fingers around her wrists, facing her.

"Olivia," he said, "this is it, you know. After we leave here, we're either heading back to our universe, back home, because we've fixed the problem, or we're not."

"I know." Her eyes were dark. "I know, Peter."

"And whatever happens," he continued, one hand going up to cup her cheek, and she closed her eyes at his touch, "with the Other Olivia, and Walternate, and the Machine, none of it matters as much as you do to me. Whatever happens, I'm not losing you again."

The words on his lips, those three words that she had said to him, and that he'd made clear to her with his actions so many other times, were right there, and she knew he was contemplating about whether or not he should say them aloud. But it would've been a sort of closure; realization that, yes, there was a large possibility they wouldn't be returning home.

She quelled the words, moving forward to press her lips against his, and he reacted immediately, his hand moving from her cheek to tangle in her hair, the other reaching around to her waist. It was bittersweet, and their emotions, wrapped in that one action, became clear at that moment.

They separated; panting, and his lips met her cheek, before he rested his forehead against hers. Her eyes were flooded with apprehension, but there was something beyond that, too, something that he was sure she could see in his eyes as well.

The sound of tires rumbling over gravel brought them back to their terrible reality. Olivia rushed to the window.

"Someone's here." She squinted. "Department of Defense. They must've found out we were here."

Peter was at her shoulder. "So, where's your friend, Henry?"

Her teeth ground into her lip. "I don't know, but he'd better get here, and fast. But we can't stay here." The vehicles were pulling around to the front of the house, so she turned toward a back door. "Let's go."


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I apologize for the longer-than-usual wait for the update. I've been swamped with work, because as school is winding down, my teachers seem to feel the need to throw more assignments at us. But, I'll try my best to update as much as I can while still keeping up with my work. Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing, and don't forget to tell me what you think of this chapter! Remember, I am always open to suggestions!<p>

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><p>Chapter Twelve<p>

The sound of their boots crunching along the grass went unheard as uniformed agents flooded out of the vehicles at the front of the house. Peter and Olivia had made it quite a ways away before they had even entered the house, already moving toward the road. The street wasn't busy at this time of day; the sun had barely risen above the horizon. It was sheer luck that they saw the little yellow bullet speeding toward them from a distance, that he had made it so quickly.

Henry slowed the cab to a stop, beside Olivia's waving arms. Without another word, both she and Peter slipped into the back, and she said breathlessly,

"Drive!"

It wasn't until they had made it miles down the road that she said it was all right to slow down. Henry then peered at them through the rearview mirror, looking coy.

"What was that all about?"

Olivia shrugged, making a mockery of nonchalance. "You must've learned by now that, in this universe, I'm always on the run."

Henry's eyes darted toward Peter. "And this is the guy you told me about?" Peter's brows rose questioningly as he looked at Olivia.

"Yup."

Henry's hands tightened around the steering wheel. "It's nice to see you again, but wanna clear things up for me? Where are we going, for one?"

"Back to the city. I'll tell you where to head when we get there." She pursed her lips. "Henry, I really am grateful for the help now, and everything you did for me before."

"I'm happy to help. Livens up my day, huh?" He snorted good-naturedly. "I'm glad to see you found—"

Peter leaned forward, reaching his hand out. "Peter Bishop. Nice to meet you, Henry."

They shook hands, and Peter leaned back, settling one hand on Olivia's knee. It was a small gesture, though he could feel the anxiety emanating from her, though she was doing a good job of hiding it. She seemed to be comfortable enough with this man, Henry, and so he decided that he would trust him as well.

"I can't tell you much this time, Henry," she continued, "and I'm sorry about that. I owe you more than that, but honestly, I think it's better if you didn't know." Hemry's expression darkened, and she started again, in an effort to draw the atmosphere within the care into a more positive one, "But what was that strange news you mentioned?" She didn't know, of course, but the strange news was certainly not anything that would temporarily lighten the mood.

Henry, ignorant to their exact situation, and what the news would bring into it, said, "Oh, that." Perhaps it was just good instinct, but he made a decision, judging only on feeling. "You know what? Maybe it's better if you find out for yourself."

Olivia did not press him further.

#

It was a strange goodbye, especially for Henry, surprised that he'd even seen Olivia from the Other Side ever again. He had doubted, on more than one occasion, whether she was truly crazy or not, but past events, and then their most recent encounter, had him nearly certain that she was not.

He dropped them in front of the Other Olivia's apartment building. They stood there for a moment, just staring.

"It feels so surreal," said Olivia softly, a crease in her forehead. "I never thought I would be back here."

"Well, at least it's on your own terms, now."

Olivia shrugged. "That's one way to put it. Though, I'd rather not be here at all."

"Let's just get it over with." Peter laced his fingers through hers, and led her through the doors. It felt almost like habit, her feet leading them to the door of the Other Olivia's apartment. The memories they had implanted into her still were there, mostly in fragments, but being here had strengthened them. It upset her, but she said nothing.

He was just as apprehensive as she was, though it was she who knocked on the door. A few moments passed, and then there was the telltale click of the lock. The door swung open, and they were looking down the barrel of a gun. The Other Olivia—who Olivia had come to think of as simply 'The Other'—stared at the both of them with a mixture of coldness and surprise.

Olivia raised her arms in a gesture of surrender. "We're only here to help."

"Help?" the Other spat, though her animosity seemed insincere. "You're here to help me? Or, for me to help you?"

"Both." Here she was, faced with alternate—a woman who, fundamentally, was _her_. She knew that, because of what had gone on between her and Peter, Olivia should've felt something akin to anger, and she _did_, but those feelings were overrun by something else that she couldn't quite discern.

Her eyes flickered from Olivia to Peter. Her façade had begun to flicker, like a dying candle. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't call the Secretary right now, to tell him his escaped fugitive, as well as his _son_, are back."

"You could," Peter said, his voice smooth, calm, "but it could mean the end of the world."

"End of the world, really?" She snorted, attempting nonchalance, though she did step aside. Her gun, however, did not waver from eye-level. Olivia had begun to miss her own. "You have five minutes to explain."

She shut and locked the door behind them, but they did not move from the foyer. Olivia noticed the Other's eyes darting toward a door at the other end of the room—was someone else here? She decided not to ask, and said instead,

"Whatever happened in the past, we need to put it aside." The Other's eyes were on Peter as the words came out of Olivia's mouth. A twinge of—was it envy?—gripped her stomach. She continued, "This is much more important."

"What is?" Her eyes were narrowed with mistrust. It was strange, to watch her doppelganger, knowing that they were nearly mirror-images.

"That piece of Machine you brought back—do you know what it's for?"

"No."

Peter stepped forward, unconsciously creating a wall between the two. "Listen, what you deal with is mundane to what we know—what _I've_ seen. Yeah, you've hopped universes, but that's old news by now. We're dealing with something much bigger than anything you've ever seen before."

Olivia hated the way the Other looked at Peter, though she supposed it wasn't so different from her own expression. The adoration—as much as she _tried_ to hide it—was sickening.

"What you're talking about—you've _seen _the end of the world?"

"Yes. And, it will started if the Secretary—my father, activates that Machine."

"So, you're here to prevent the end of the world. But, whose world? Mine, or yours?"

"Both," he said. "Yours, more immediately."

Still, she seemed unconvinced. "Why should I believe you?"

Olivia, exasperated, said, "The Walter Bishop on Our Side set this all in motion. We know what will happen in the future unless we stop it, and that's the destruction of _both_ our worlds. We have no ulterior motive, besides preventing the death of billions." She paused. "We wouldn't have come here if we had another option. I think that's obvious." Peter nodded. "We need your help."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" In a surprising gesture of trust, she holstered her gun. "I'm trying to understand your reasoning, but I don't know what I can do to help." Again, her eyes were focused on the side door.

"We need to speak to the Secretary. I think it would be best if I pretended to be you, again." Peter shifted beside her; they hadn't discussed _this_ aspect of the plan, and he was obviously not too enthusiastic about it. "I could dye my hair, borrow your clothes, use your Show-Me—that's it. We just need a way in. _You _don't actually have to do anything."

"And Peter?"

"He'll come too."

She smirked. "You're using the Secretary's son as a bartering chip?"

Peter nodded vehemently, frowning. "If it means preventing the end of the world, sure! This is my choice, too. I haven't been dragged along to be used."

She crossed her arms. "Fine. I'll do what I can, but if you're in any way deceiving me, I'll—" She was interrupted by a faint cry that drifted from the side room that had been attracting her attention throughout the entire conversation. It was as if the air had been sucked from the room. Everyone froze, and the Other Olivia's posture lost its intensity. Her focus moved to Peter, but he only had eyes for Olivia. Yes, this was another consequence of having travelled to the future, though he hadn't remembered this specific event until now, which seemed strange to him. But, his brain had just grasped that he did, in fact, have a son. He felt his stomach twist into knots, though, blessedly, Olivia still seemed ignorant at the moment.

"You have…a child?" she stammered.

She nodded slowly. "A son." She thrust her chin toward Peter. "_Your _son."

"Peter's son? I—" Her mouth snapped shut with her sudden realization, and she turned her head to look at him, her eyes dark. "Oh." She cleared her throat, her eyes now at his feet. "Well, we can't waste any more time. We need to prepare."

This wasn't the reaction he had expected, but he supposed that, since they were not alone, she wasn't going to allow herself to show anything in front of her alternate; her own personality wouldn't allow for it. But, seeing how she'd acted when she'd returned from the Other Side and he'd told her what had gone on, he'd expected something much more violent, especially since this was an added heap onto what already was a tumultuous pile of emotion.

She moved with harsh, stilted movements, as she said, "If I could just borrow some clothes…" She stopped, stared at the both of them, the corner of her mouth twisting, as it always did when she was upset, and then she shut herself in the bathroom.

This wasn't right. They'd screwed with the rules of the universe (and each other), and it had led to a child that should've never existed in the first place. And as much as she wanted to sink to the floor and never get up, she couldn't. She wasn't about to let her own feelings get in the way of the fate of the worlds.

Peter stood beside the door, a lump in his throat. He could feel the Other Olivia's eyes on him, but he ignored her. Her deceit was still raw in his mind, and he felt nothing but negativity toward her at the moment. She had never been the one he wanted, and nothing would change that. He hated that these corkscrews kept being thrown in his and Olivia's relationships, and he hated that this had now brought up a whole new set of problems for them to face. And, the very fact that another human being had been brought into this mess was appalling.

He knocked on the door, leaning his forehead against the surface. "Olivia…"

Her voice came through muffled. "I'm fine. We don't have time to do this now. I'll be ready soon."

The Other Olivia came up behind him. He didn't look at her, didn't want to. "Do you want to meet him?"

Peter turned to her now, his face void of emotion. "Yes."

She led him into the side room, and reached into the crib. He didn't miss the smile on her face, though she attempted to compose herself once she was upright again. That smile, looking down at his son, should've been reserved for Olivia, and only her. "His name is Henry." The child wriggled, tugging at her shirtsleeve.

"Henry," he repeated, rolling his tongue around the name. "Like the taxi driver?"

"It's a long story." She grimaced for a moment. "You want to hold him?"

He nodded, holding out his arms. The child—his son, he had to remind himself, as if he were almost in shock—felt so small in his grasp. Children had always liked him, and Henry was no exception. He gurgled happily and reached out, his tiny fingers grasping Peter's thumb. But, despite the warmth in his gut, it felt like a betrayal.

"And you're taking care of him on your own?" he said, though he did not look up at her.

"Yes."

"I don't know what to say…"

"You don't have to say anything. I don't expect anything of you."

"I can't just leave it alone," he said, "this is my son."

She shrugged. "I've been fine so far. And besides, I really don't think inter-universal joint custody would work out." She sighed, and he could see the guilt shining in her eyes. "This is my fault in the first place. Just promise me one thing, alright?"

He nodded.

"Make sure this universe isn't destroyed, for him."

#

Despite the fact that the two Olivia's were genetically identical, he did see that there _were_ differences, and he cursed himself for not having realized them earlier. Olivia _was_ darker in the eyes, and standing next to each other, that became all the more apparent.

"I called Lincoln," said the Other Olivia. "He'll take you to Liberty Island."

Olivia protested, "I don't want to get anyone else involved in this."

The Other pursed her lips. "I don't think you should go alone."

"Did you tell him?" She looked anxious, threading her hand through her newly-reddened hair.

"No. He only knows that I—_you_—need to speak to the Secretary. I told him Peter's back, but not why or how."

Olivia nodded once, then held out her hand. "Thank you for your help." Her words came out a bit strangled.

The Other looked surprised, but she shook her hand nonetheless. "I'm not going to jeopardize my universe. I just hope you're telling the truth." She gestured toward the door, and her eyes were on Peter, now. "Lincoln will meet you outside."

#

It was like seeing an old friend. Lincoln was the same as Olivia had remembered; witty, charming, and yet, something seemed different in his attitude toward her. And, the look of near-hostility toward Peter was certainly strange.

"So, Mr. Bishop," he said, once they had pulled out onto the street, "why is it that you've decided to come back?"

"Unfinished business," was all Peter said. Olivia appreciated his ambiguity.

Lincoln shifted in his seat. "Well, I sure hope that's only involving your father."

Peter chuckled, though it was laced with bitterness. "You don't have to worry. I'm not here to bother anyone."

He wanted to reach forward, because though it looked like Olivia was all right, he knew that hiding her feelings was exactly what she was good at. He'd done much to crack her shell when they were alone, to allow her to feel safe enough around him that she could tell him how she felt, but he knew that this was going to be a different issue. When—not if, he had to remind himself—they returned home, they would need to have a talk. Preferably alone, where Walter couldn't bother them.

He missed Walter. It felt as if it had been an eternity that he'd been floating in limbo, in both existence and non-existence. And, it wasn't just Olivia's death that needed to be prevented—it was Walter's incarceration as well. Yes, Walter had begun the destruction of the universes, but it hadn't been his intention. And to be kept in a cell, where he wasn't allowed to see visitors or have access to anything that he found in enjoyment in, was not right. Hell, he hadn't even been allowed to attend their wedding. That needed to chance.

"Hey, Liv," said Lincoln, pulling Peter from his thoughts, as his bent his head forward to listen. "You feeling alright? You're quieter than usual."

She shrugged. "I'm fine."

A lie she'd told many times, and Lincoln didn't seem to be reassured, but he also seemed to know not to press the matter.

The remainder of the ride was mostly silent; the only disturbance was Lincoln asking specifically why she needed to meet with the Secretary, and Olivia answered just as ambiguously as Peter had, stating that it all had to do with Peter. Because that's what it was—Peter was the catalyst for the destruction of the universes. And now, if they were lucky, he would be the savior as well.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing, and don't forget to tell me what you think of this chapter! Remember, I am always open to suggestions!<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Thirteen<p>

Olivia had asked Lincoln to wait while she and Peter talked a moment. He did seem to find it odd, but he did not question her, despite the fact that he had every right to do so. And so, he waited in the lobby of the DOD while the two of them stayed back in the car.

"You'll wait outside first, alright?" When she spoke to him, her tone was confident, but she seemed unable to meet his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because I don't think we should drop it all on him at once. You wait for me to signal for you to come in, alright?" Her shoulders slumped, and she scrubbed her hand over her face and through her hair. "That didn't come out the way I wanted it to. I'm sorry."

"'Livia." He rested his hand atop hers, thankful for the tinted windows of the vehicle. "I'm sorry."

"We can't talk about this now. I—I can't _think _about this right now. Let's just do what we came here to do."

He laced his fingers through hers, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. "I promise, I'll do whatever I can to make this right."

She sighed his name, and in that moment, looked to be in such despair, and he couldn't do anything about it. No, he could only watch as she loosed herself from his grip and exited the car, not even offering the opportunity for any other gesture he could offer before they walked into the Secretary's lair. He knew that her way of coping was going to be avoiding him, but that was the absolute last thing he wanted.

Lincoln met her once she passed through the doors. "You ready?"

She rested a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for taking us here, but I think it's best if you left, now."

He cocked his head, his brows coming together. "What about a ride back?"

"I don't think we have to worry about that. I just don't want you to get caught up in any of this."

He was sweet. If anything, Olivia wanted to prevent him from getting caught in the crossfire when things started to heat up, as she knew they would.

"Alright. But, promise me you'll call when this is over, okay? I want to know how it all goes, with the Secretary's son being back and all."

She nodded, squeezing his shoulder, before dropping her arm back to her side. "I promise." Peter was behind her now, and Lincoln gave him a hard stare before he left the building. Olivia said nothing, only moved forward, toward the elevators. The mere smell of the place brought back memories that she would've preferred to forget.

Those they passed in the hall stared at Peter as if they'd seen a ghost. Having returned, he supposed that now, because they knew what he looked like, his return would be more publicized than it had been the first time. That didn't matter; hopefully, they'd be gone before the press even got word that he was back.

Walternate was at his desk, and his head snapped up upon her sudden arrival. Peter was just outside the door, out of sight. "I wasn't expecting any—" he began, until he realized who it was. "Olivia, I didn't know you were coming." He tilted his head toward Olivia, smiling faintly. "Is everything alright with Henry?"

Olivia clasped her hands in front of her body and spoke through gritted teeth. "Henry's fine. This isn't about him."

"I hadn't thought otherwise. Why are you here, then?" He got to his feet. "I don't mean to be rude, but I have quite a busy day planned."  
>"You'd better clear your schedule, then, because this matter is more important than anything you have to do, I'm sure."<p>

He held no likeness to Walter, save for the actual physical appearance. His eyes were cold, his heart just as much. There was not even a hint of the kindness, of the sincerity that Walter's held.

"What is the meaning of this, Agent Dunham?" His voice was harsh, though Lincoln, too, looked at her as if to ask the same thing.

She strode forward, pressing her palms flat against his desk, her face a mere foot from his. "That piece of Machine I brought back, when I came back from the Other Side. You remember it?"

"Of course I do. But, I don't see why you would have any concern for it. Any assignment you had involving it is now finished."

She ignored the latter part of his response, and continued, "What's it for? What're you going to do with that Machine?"

"Again, it's none of your concern."

"You're _wrong_!" The last word was punctuated by the slap of her hands against the desk. "It is certainly my concern! You have no right to play God."

And he leaned forward, so now, their noses were nearly touching. His breath, hot on her cheek, stank of alcohol. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? Perhaps you should talk to your _son_ about it then, sir," she spat. Her emotions were getting the best of her, breaking through the stoic wall she had wanted to keep up. But, this was not a simple work matter. She was not debating with Sanford Harris over the fate of her job—she was debating with Walternate over the fate of the universes. And, so far, he was doing a fine job of playing up his ignorance.

"My son?" He was taken aback, and there was almost a physical reaction—the straightening of his shoulders, his hands behind his back as he stared at her. His expression was calmer, now, as he said coolly, "You're not the Olivia Dunham from Over Here, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

"And you've brought my son with you. How did you cross over in the first place? How did you even get in here?"

She shook her head. "There's no time for questions."

He sneered. "I will _not_say anything more until I know the meaning of this."

They both swung around at the creak of the door as it opened. Peter stood there, his hand still on the doorknob.

"Father."

"Peter. You've come back." There it was—that glimmer of humanity in Walternate's eyes, though it was replaced just as quickly by aloofness. Then, he turned to Olivia. "You and Peter have come here, but for what? And, how do you know about the Machine?"

It was Peter who answered, "We know more about this than you could ever imagine." He moved forward, halting beside Olivia. "I agreed to help you those months ago because I truly thought you had found a way to heal this world. _Our_ universe. But, I was wrong. Your goal was not to fix, but to destroy. You may not have started the war, but you're sure as hell not doing anything to bring it to an end!"

Walternate stammered a bit; they had an advantage over him, having taken him by surprise. But, he regained his composure, and said, "So, you've found out my plan. But—"

"No, we haven't 'found out' your plan," Peter spat, "I've seen the result. And do you know what it ends with, first and foremost?" Walternate was silent, glaring. "The destruction of this universe. This can't end well for you, unless you help us stop this."

"I've heard enough." Walternate's voice echoed through the room, silencing the both of them. His eyes on Peter, he said, "We will talk later. You are my son, after all, and I am willing to hear what you have to say." Olivia stood unmoving, her face contorted into a grimace, as if every emotion she had kept bottled up inside was threatening to burst. Peter wanted to go to her, to assure her that everything would turn out all right, but it would hardly have been appropriate. Walternate turned and said something into an intercom on the wall, but his words were too quiet for them to hear.

But there was no need, because they were sure that they uniformed agents flooding through the doors were of his doing. Olivia had sprung into a defensive stance out of habit, but there were too many, and one of her arms were wrenched behind her back before she was even fully aware of what was going on. And Walternate watched, without a word, as she flung out a fist, managing to catch one of the agents in the jaw. But they converged, and the man retaliated more roughly than was suitable with the butt of his gun, knocking her out cold. Her head snapped forward and stayed there, her chin against her chest, blood streaming from her face and nose. Peter leapt forward, yelling incoherently, but two more agents were tightening their grips on him, anticipating his violent reaction.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Walternate strode toward him, his hands clasped behind his back. "As long as you cooperate, there will be no problem." He nodded, and Olivia was dragged from the room between the two agents, her feet dangling uselessly, looking like a rag doll.

He continued, "I will talk to you, but only on my terms, once this all settles down."

"It won't," growled Peter, straining against the hold on him. "Not until you understand the consequences of your actions."

His words didn't make any impact. The Secretary had him taken from the room as well, and Peter could only hope that this had at least postponed the destruction of universes.

#

She woke in a haze of pain and confusion. Someone had changed her into a white gown, as disconcerting that was in the first place, and among the bland walls, her hair was the only shock of color. Her arms were strapped down to the cot she lay on, and she was in a cell, similar to the one she'd been held in previously. Machines hooked up to her body monitored her vitals, her face had been cleaned, and a strip of gauze covered the place where the impact had broken the skin. But, there was nothing for the pain, and with each movement, the throbbing ache in her head intensified.

She took a moment to remember where she was, and why. The second thought that came to her was that Walternate was just as, if not even more stubborn than Walter, but it was his pigheadedness that would be the cause of the end of the world, if they didn't' find a way to convince him otherwise. She assumed he wouldn't have locked up Peter, though—rather, he would try to get him on his side. But, at the moment, Peter was her only hope; Peter, who truly was a citizen of this universe, and who had a son, mothered by her alternate.

It was something that eventually should've been reserved for the two of them, eventually, to be able to enjoy a child of their own. But that, as had many other first moments, been ripped away from them. Yet, she didn't entirely blame the Other Olivia, as much as she disliked her, especially at that moment.. It had been Walternate who had orchestrated all in the first place, though she did doubt that the pregnancy had been his intention.

She swallowed the taste of bile, and pulled weakly at her restraints. Perhaps all this universe-hopping really wasn't good for her. It felt as if her body had been drained of energy, and that, coupled with the emotional exhaustion, certainly wouldn't be conducive to any sort of escape attempt. A lump was forming in her throat, and she struggled to repress a choked sob, and instead turned her head, burying it in side of the cot. She hadn't even been provided the meager comfort of a pillow or blanket. The stark whiteness of the room was like the inside of her head, bouncing around ideas and thoughts that were only harmful to her psyche.

Their intention had been to stop Walternate, and it had turned into so much more. She and Peter had been separated in an already hostile universe, but there were so many more layers to their issues. She did have the small comfort that Peter would probably be treated well—at least, better than she was, though she wasn't even sure if that was what she preferred. For all she knew, Peter could've changed his mind upon seeing his son. The Other Olivia fundamentally was the same person she was, though with less baggage, less to worry about. They had been happy together when she'd been trapped Over Here—how could she know whether or not he wouldn't change his mind?

The creak of the door brought her out of her stupor, and she was suddenly aware of the wetness on her cheeks, though she could do nothing about it. And so, she kept her head tilted away from the door, though the voice was a dead giveaway as to her visitor.

"We know how you escaped the first time. That drug in your body, and the sensory deprivation—it's how you can travel between universes."

It was Brandon from this universe—or, Brandonate, as she'd thought of him while here the last time. The sick, sadistic son of a bitch.

"But, what I don't know is how you got here this time. The Harvard lab hasn't been broken into, and this time, you brought someone else." She could hear the scrape of his shoes as he crept closer to her; felt him hovering above her. She turned her head toward him, though her mouth was clamped shut. She merely glared.

"You know, the Secretary said he still needs you for now, but I don't think he has any intention of letting you go." He smirked. "I still would very much like to study you. And, you know, I might be able to get more out of it if you're still alive."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing, and don't forget to tell me what you think of this chapter! Remember, I am always open to suggestions!<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Fourteen<p>

Anger was the most prominent emotion for Peter at that moment, followed closely by anxiety. But all he could do was wring his hands, because it was no use trying to break out of the cell—he'd already tried that.

Olivia had told him snippets of her time spent here, and the claustrophobia she'd described certainly was accurate. He knew now why she still had nightmares about the place.

The door open, and he sprung to his feet. It was his father, stone-faced as always. "Hello, son."

"Where's Olivia?" He wasn't about to beat around the bush, and it was all he could do not to hit the man right then and there. His nails bit into his palms. "If you've done anything to her, I swear—"

"She's fine." It was a tacit understanding that the words that should've followed the latter statement were, '_for now_'.

"I want to see her."

"Not now." He pulled the door shut behind him, and took a seat on the bench. He gestured for Peter to do the same but Peter didn't move. "I'd like to speak to you about what you said earlier."

"There's nothing more to explain," he said, "just that you need to understand that you can't turn on the Machine. I know how you did it now—it was my son, wasn't it? You used his DNA."

"'Used'," Walternate repeated slowly, his mouth creasing pensively. "Why do you refer to the event in the past tense? It hasn't happened yet."

He turned to face the wall, in an attempt to stem the anger rising in his chest. He spoke through gritted teeth. "It may not have happened yet, not in this time frame, but you of all people—a brilliant scientist, just like the Walter Bishop on the Other Side—should know that the concept of time being linear is only a human concept. Really, time travel isn't so far-fetched. And that's all I'm going to say about _that_." His boot squeaked, as he turned sharply, then bent at the hip so he was eye-level with Walternate. "This isn't about how _I _saw it, it's about the consequences of your actions, and how _you _can prevent it."

"This is not my fault. It is my alternate's fault. He stole you, and he must suffer because of his actions."

"You're selfish!" With the force of his words his body straightened, and he spread his hands upward as he spoke, deep creases gauging the skin of his forehead. "If this is about what Walter did, then settle it with him. But, destroying an entire universe is _not_ a good way to get revenge. There's no way you can rationalize destroying so many people just because of one person."

"Son, do you know how many people in this universe have died because of the imbalance my alternate's crossing over caused?" There was a loathing in his eyes that Peter had never seen in Walter's—as much as Olivia was similar to her alternate, Charlie to his, Lincoln to his, etc., etc., Walter and Walternate were as different as they came. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Bell had removed pieces of Walter's brain, and Peter didn't want to know how he would've turned out if that hadn't happened. It was a rare even that Peter was grateful for Bell.

"It still doesn't justify the genocide that you're allowing to go on." He swallowed, composing himself, before he continued, in a softer tone, "A bridge had been created, but you were still unable to swallow your pride and help to repair both universes. There's only one option here."

"And what's that?"

"Either you change your mind, and I swear, I will help however I can to repair your universe."

"Or?"

"Or," he said, with a vicious sneer, "I'll make sure you're unable to activate the Machine, whatever it takes."

"I think you've forgotten that you're in my custody." Walternate stood, more imposing than ever, all traces of the prior frenzy gone from his face. "You can't do anything unless I approve it. And I certainly don't approve of any of this." He moved toward the door. "I'll allow you to rethink your threats. I really don't want to have to keep you locked up, Peter. But, I will if I have to." Peter sprang toward him as he settled his hand on the doorknob.

"Wait!" Pleading wasn't appealing, but it seemed to be his only choice at the moment. "Let me see Olivia. Please, if you're going to keep us locked up here, at least let me see her."

But Walternate said nothing, only stared at him for a moment, then left. He pounded his fists on the door, calling after him, but the steel was thick, and he tired quickly. The glimmer of some sort of sympathy in his father's eyes before he'd left was his only consolation.

#

She hadn't been able to quell the worry fluttering in her stomach since the two had left her apartment for the Department of Defense. She had never thought she'd be seeing either of them again, much less to have them turn up on her doorstep. Though, she was glad that her son had met his father, if only for a fleeting moment.

After a few hours had passed, Lincoln called, and she hoped it was with good news.

"Hey, 'Liv. You back from the DOD yet? You found a ride?"

She wasn't quite sure how to answer, but she supposed that if it really were her at the DOD, she wouldn't have answered her phone. "Yeah, I managed to get home alright." She punctuated with an easy laugh, if only to assure him that it was the truth.

"And Peter?"

"He's—he stayed back with his father. They wanted to catch up."

"Do you know why he came back?"

"I'm not sure, really."

There was a pause, as Lincoln said nothing for a few moments, until, "Was it because of you and Henry?"

"No." She could almost feel Lincoln's doubt coming over the line. "Honestly, it wasn't. He didn't even know until he actually came here."

"You think he'll stay for good now, then?"

"No." This was true; she had never expected them to stay, because once whatever they had come here to do was done with, she knew they would want to return to their own universe as soon as possible. Yes, it would be sad that Henry would grow up without a father, but she wasn't the one Peter wanted. He wanted her alternate. "He won't stay. And if he does, it won't be because of me."

Another moment of silence, and the Lincoln said, "Well, since you're home now, why don't I come over, keep you company?" The eagerness in his voice sounded akin to that of an excited child.

She chuckled. "I don't think that's such a good idea." She heard him make a noise of discontent. "Sorry, Lincoln. I just need some time, alright?"

"Well, give me a call if you change your mind."

"I will."

She disconnected the call and slumped down onto the couch. She hadn't expected to hear whether or not her alternate and Peter had made it through all right with the Secretary, but she had a sick feeling in her stomach. Walternate was a stubborn man, and she knew the only thing he wanted was his son back, and for revenge on the other universe. A bit of convincing wouldn't do much to change his mind.

A visit might do some good, she thought, if only just to check up. Despite the differences she and her alternate shared, she _was_ the same person, and she did feel some sort of attachment, not to mention the danger she and Peter may be in at that moment.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing, and don't forget to tell me what you think of this chapter! Remember, I am always open to suggestions!<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Fifteen<p>

She wasn't sure how long she'd been in there since Brandonate had left—the lack of any way for her to keep track of time gave the illusion that time was standing still. Her body eventually grew numb from the lack of movement, though the dull throbbing in her head stayed. She supposed the two concussions weren't so conducive to good health.

It wasn't fear she felt, or even sadness. She was long past that. Instead, it was anger, and she remembered Walter telling her that her ability to focus her emotions into anger was what made her so good at her job. Well, it didn't do her much good here, locked. But, at least she wasn't a mess.

She heard the door swing open. The metal scraped across the floor, creating a nasty sound, though footsteps did not immediately follow it, which she thought to be strange. She instinctively shrunk back toward the mattress, and turned her head to face the doorway. It wasn't Walternate, or Brandonate, or even a random agent coming to check up on her, as she'd expected.

It was Peter.

He stared at her for a moment, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Then, he leapt forward, kneeling beside the bed, placing a tentative hand over hers.

"Olivia, oh God," he breathed, his eyes dark. His presence had caused the emotions to again swell up inside of her again, breaking through the simple wall of anger. His other hand wavered over her face, his fingertips dangling across her bruised jaw, as if waiting for permission. She leaned into his touch. They had a lot to settle, but she knew that now was an inappropriate time to hold any sort of grudge.

His thumb trailed lightly across the gauze on her face. "I'm sorry, 'Livia. I'm so sorry."

She swallowed, managing to get out, "Don't say sorry. This isn't your fault."

"It is, though, some of it." He gripped her hand more tightly, and bent his head down toward hers. He said nothing more.

The absolute futility of their situation weighed down the air, suffocating them. He steeled his jaw, unsure if he would be able to keep himself composed, seeing her face, and wanting very much to, for both their sake.

"I understand," she said, at last, "if you want to stay." She pulled at one of the restraints, for effect. "I don't think I'll be getting out of here easily, though your father is obviously allowing you more leniency."

"What?"

"Walternate wants you to stay He'll be able to give you whatever you want here. I don't know how we're going to get back anyway, not now."

Peter shook his head, readjusting himself so that his face was only inches from hers. His blue eyes were intense, focused only on her, as if she were the only important thing in the world. "My father, as much as I wish it wasn't the case, is a terrible man. He's stubborn, and refuses to listen to our side of the story. I don't know what you're trying to say, but—"

"You have more here." Her teeth raked over her bottom lip. "Your family is here…your son.

"Olivia," he said firmly, cupping her chin so that she was forced to look at him, rather than at the wall. "My son is the product of a mistake that has caused us more trouble and misery than I care to admit, and it's largely my fault." She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. "I knew, when I saw the future, that I had a son. He died, along with everyone else in this universe. But, when I was trying to get back from my non-existence, I didn't want to come back to save or, or his mother, or my mother. I came back for you. I know he'll be well taken care of here, and that's all I need to kno

"And you have to stop with the self-deprecation. Why can't you believe that you're good enough? Your alternate is less burdened, sure, but she's not the one I fell for in the first place. She's not you. It was always you that I wanted, Olivia, and I would never want you to change."

She could barely speak, her eyes streaming. "I don't know what we're going to do." He pulled her to him as well as he could with the restraints, her head tucked in the curve of his neck, his fingers threaded through her hair. He mumbled something into her hair, his breath warm on her skin.

"I love you."

The three words he'd told her countless times with his actions, yet hadn't verbalized until now. Her heart swelled with confliction emotions.

They stayed like that for a while, simply enjoying being alive at the moment, knowing very well that it may not last much longer. Then, Olivia pulled away, only to look again at his face.

"We have to get out of here," she said, with new resolve, and a determination that hadn't been there before. "You might be safe, but they'll kill me once they're finished with me…"

"I won't let that happen." He gripped her shoulders, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I swear, I won't."

"I don't think you can stop it," she said, "unless we get out of here." She could feel her body wanting to break down again, because her brain was having trouble comprehending the situation, but she couldn't. Her trembling lip was the only sign of this.

"But how?" He settled on the edge of the cot. "How did you get out of the last time?"

"I had help."

Before she could say anything more, the door opened. That damn door had become a symbol of nothing but bad news, until Peter had walked in. But now, it lived up to her expectations. Two uniformed agents stood in the doorway.

"Time's up."

Peter was still turned toward Olivia, ignoring the men, even as they approached him. "We'll figure it out. Olivia. I promise." His arms were pinned behind his back, and he was dragged from the room. But, he'd left her with something.

Hope.

#

"She's more important than I thought."

They stood behind the wire-latticed window, the room darkened so their silhouettes would not give them away. Bradonate's lab coat flapped around his legs as he turned hastily.

"Sir," he said, "I respect your opinion, but I think she would be much more valuable to us for research than anything else." He was full of sadistic hope; it shone in his eyes.

"Why are you so fixated on her mutilation?" His tone was accusatory. The question was sincere, though Walternate suspected he knew the answer. Brandonate began to stammer.

"I—I'm not, I just think that, because of her abilities, we could find out exactly how—"

"And look how my son behaves around her." He shifted, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "I understand the feelings two people can have for another. I don't think that you are able to. This all started because of my son. But, I do not want to deny him happiness, especially if I want him to stay. That would never work."

Brandonate was stunned by these sudden words. They seemed almost…kind to him, very much unlike the Secretary's norm. "But, he betrayed you! He left to be with her, and with your _alternate_. You have him now, but he didn't come here for you. For all we know, he really wants to destroy ours, and he's lying. Why would you want to show any sympathy?" He took a breath, then, "Are you seriously considering…letting them go?"

"You are not a parent, you wouldn't understand." His lips tightened. He had long thought of the younger man as a surrogate son, though, especially recently, his sadistic tendencies were becoming increasingly apparent. Something would have to be done, eventually. "But no, I am not going to let them go. Not yet." Brandonate's heart fluttered with promise at the words.

"And what about the Machine?"

"What about it?"

He shrunk from the Secretary's stare. "Are you still going to activate it?"

His frown deepened. "I don't know. I don't know if what they're telling me has any validity. We'll wait a bit longer."

"We're going off schedule?"

"Perhaps."

#

They took Peter to his father's office, rather than the cell, of which he was grateful for. He did, however, have to bite back the image of Olivia still strapped to the cot, or else he wouldn't have been able to keep a handle on himself. His father joined him after a few short minutes, affording Peter no time to snoop around, as he would've preferred. He moved past Peter without a word, headed straight for the bar at the other side of the room, poured himself a drink. He then, at last, turned to his son.

"Would you like something?" Peter shook his head, settling forward, his elbows braced on his knees. Walternate tossed back the drink in one gulp, and grit his teeth, placing the glass back on the counter with a sharp _clink_. "I saw you with Olivia. Your Olivia."

"That's a bit of a breach of privacy, isn't it? But, I guess that's because you don't trust me." Then, he sobered up, the bitterness _almost_ leaving his voice. "Thank you for letting me see her."

Walternate offered a smile, though the expression had gone unused for so long, it looked more like a grimace. "I'm not heartless."

Peter had no reply to that.

Walternate continued,

"I've been thinking about what you said." He moved toward his seat.

"And you've reconsidered?" Peter's brows rose with optimism.

Walternate snorted as he dropped into the chair, folding his hands. "Not quite. But, son, I do understand why you came here—why you are so reluctant to leave the Other Side behind.

"My home is there," Peter said in agreement, "not here. And, I will stop at nothing to make sure it stays safe. But," and he held up his index finger for emphasis, "that also means making sure this universe isn't destroyed, either. Both have to exist, or neither. That's just how it works."

Walternate gestured toward the city view beyond the window. It was, admittedly, quite beautiful; the setting sun cast a faint yellowish glow over the entire area. "I'm doubtful that you're telling the whole truth, and I don't want to risk my world by putting my trust in you."

"Why?" His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into the fabric of his pants. "I've told you everything I know—I've been trying to _save_ your universe, and what have you done? Locked me up, strapped Olivia to a bed—"

"She's tricky, that one. Escape twice. I don't want to take any chances this time." His gaze was intensely focused on him, his eyes burning holes in Peter's. "You care about her very much, don't know?" His voice, so soft in juxtaposition with Peter's, was almost a shock. "And your…trip into the future hasn't change that."

"Nothing's changed; nothing _could_ change it. Not your attempts, her alternate, or anything else." His stomach was rising into his throat. He felt sick, thinking of all the horror they'd been through, that they still had to go through, and just how twisted their whole story was. "She is everything to me."

He tilted his head forward in acknowledgement. "I can tell." He cleared his throat. "Well, I will say that I will continue to mull over everything you have told me."

"Why? If it means the destruction of the universe, then why not just put the Machine back where it belongs—in the ground—and let us all be?"

"I'm not discussing the specificities with you."

"So, you're going to lock me up again?" He rose from his seat, hands still balled into fists.

"No." He expression almost mirrored Walter's for a small moment, so full of regret. "Your mother would like to see you."

Peter's hands dropped to his sides. "You told her I was here?"

"I wouldn't hide it from her. As long as you would like to see her too, I can have you taken to her now."

"I would." As Walternate made a movement to stand, Peter stepped around the desk so they were standing face-to-face. "But, you have to promise me you won't hurt Olivia. She needs to be safe, or I refuse to speak to you any longer."

"Why would I promise you anything?"

Peter's mouth opened, then closed, in his bafflement. He scoffed, "Were you not just listening to that last conversation?"

"I will not be making any promises." He brushed off Peter's confrontation as if it meant nothing, and was now nearly at the door, leaving Peter seething, still facing the wall. "But, I will take into consideration your feelings for her."


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do now own Fringe.

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><p>Author's Note: As always, I appreciate any suggestions or comments you may have. I'm so thankful to everyone reading and reviewing, and please, don't forget to tell me what you think of this chapter! I'm finally nearing the end of school, so I should be able to get updates in a bit faster, though I do still have work.<p>

Things are speeding up, now. Perhaps nearing the end (?).

UPDATE: I cannot _believe _I forgot that this universe doesn't have coffee-I'd even mentioned it in an earlier chapter. Alas, thank you to anon TooLazytoLogIn for alerting me to the fact, and I've fixed it below. That's what I get for writing late at night, I guess.

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><p>Chapter Sixteen<p>

Four armed agents escorted Peter to a café not far from Liberty Island. It was clear Walternate didn't want him far, seeing as how he hadn't sent Peter back to his home, though the café had been cleared for safety. The agents stood outside, though only after making Peter promise not to try to escape while inside. His assurances were empty—if he had the chance to do anything he could to secure his and Olivia's safety, he would.

His mother sat at a corner table, two steaming mugs in front of her, untouched. She didn't see him as he first entered, and he took the moment to study her. She looked more worn out than when he'd last saw her; her eyes had dark rings beneath them, her face was drawn. He knew that having your son snatched away from you a second time wasn't bound to draw up any good feelings. Her face immediately brightened as he approached the table, and she stood and wrapped her arms around him.

"Oh, Peter," she said, "I'm so glad you're back."

He reciprocated, rubbing his hand flat against her back as she took him in. It was still strange to him, like hugging a ghost. When they parted, she gestured to the table as they both took a seat. "I just ordered some tea, I don't know if you want any, but…" She trailed off, not taking her eyes off of him.

"That's fine." He offered her a smile. "How are you doing?"

She flicked her hand, as if to brush away the question. "I'm fine. Your father's been spending most of his time at the office, but I've been dealing with it." She bent her head forward, scrutinizing his face. "But, why are you back? I'm sorry to be blunt, but I'm obviously quite interested in the reason."

"Waltern—" He stopped, catching himself, his words a bit stilted as he began again, "My father didn't tell you?"

"No. All I know is that you're back." She rested her hand over his." And that I'm very happy to see you."

It killed him, wrenched his heart in his chest, to have to explain to her his reasoning; to tell her why he wouldn't be staying.

"It's a long story, and hard to understand. I'll tell you that I came here with a woman from the Other Side, because we want to save this universe."

The tea had been pushed to the side, long forgotten. "Save?" she repeated. "Save it from what?

He sighed, brushing his free hand through his hair, then looking back up at her. "My father will not be happy that I'm telling you this, but I think it's important that you know. He built a Machine with the intent of destroying the other universe. But, when he activates it, it will cause the opposite: the destruction of _this_ universe."

A bird chirped through the silence; a little pigeon, sitting on a windowsill.

"I don't understand."

"I know, it's hard."

"How do you know all of this?"

He drew his lips into a thin line, sucking on the inside of his cheek. "It's a long story, like I said." Walternate and his mother must've been more distance than he thought. She had no clue of his plans, of his intent. "He wants revenge on the other universe, on the Walter from Over There for causing all the trouble here."

"And that's why you came here, to stop him?"

He nodded, solemnly. "Yes."

She dropped back in her chair, looking a bit faint. He patted her hand, offering what little comfort he could.

"So many deaths…" she murmured. "Is there anyway I can help?" Something must've happened, to make his mother so willing to go against his father. She hadn't asked if Peter was truthful, or been unwilling to believe such a horrible thing about her husband. It frightened him, knowing what their relationship had been turned into.

He merely shrugged. It was doubtful, that his nearly-estranged wife would be able to convince him otherwise, but it was worth a shot. "Talk to him. Tell him what you think."

"I'm not often able to get through to him." Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

Peter snorted, "That's not surprising."

"But what about you? Where are you staying, what's his plan for you?" She couldn't keep the questions from flowing out; to have her son flitting in and out of her life was highly disconcerting, and she was attempting to wring out as much as she could from this visit.

"He's kept me locked up, only because he know I'll leave if he doesn't." He ran his hand through his hair, a sudden display of agitation. "I know he wants me to stay."

She was trying to hold herself together; he could see that. "So do I, Peter. But, you said you came here with a woman from the Other Side…She's the reason why you went back the last time, isn't she? And, the reason you don't want to stay here now."

"Exactly." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm so grateful to be able to sit here and talk to you. But, this isn't my home anymore. I don't belong here." He titled his head to the side, looking past her, now. "Sometimes, you have to let things go, to move on. I need to let go of this universe, and you and my father need to let go of me."

"Peter…"

"I know, it's hard. I don't want to leave you. You're my mother, for God's sake, and we've missed out on being a part of each other's lives, until now." His gaze was again fixated on her. "You're much stronger than the woman who raised me, you know. I know you can handle this, but Walter—he's so stubborn. I wish he was more understanding, but he won't go against his own cause. His want for revenge is going to mean the death of both worlds." He sucked in a deep breath, his monologue over.

She merely gave him a half-hearted smile and a small nod. "I understand. I'll do whatever I can to help."

Even if she merely prolonged Walternate's doubt, it would help Peter and Olivia's attempt at escape.

#

When they came in and began to undo her restraints, Olivia thought she was dreaming. Though, the linoleum floor, cold against her feet, and their hands on her arms certainly was real. She shook the haze from her head, and jerked in their grasp.

"What are you doing? Where are you taking me?"

They didn't answer, only dragged her into the hall, acting more like robots than anything else. That's what they were—Walternate's puppets, doing whatever he told them to without question, no matter if it involved the torture of another human being.

Her voice and their footsteps echoed solemnly. Even if she was unstrapped, with her injuries and no weapon, she wasn't strong enough to fight them off. But, Olivia was determined to the very end, and she wasn't about to let this opportunity slip through her fingers. She struck her heels against the floor, forcing them to stop for a moment, with the slow of their momentum.

"Get moving," one of the men hissed, yanking at her arm.

"Please, I don't feel well." She crinkled her forehead, frowning at him. "Can't we just take a second?"

The men glanced at each other, but the one who'd spoken earlier shook his head. "We're here to follow orders, not to listen to you."

And so, she went limp in their arms, and they nearly dropped her to the floor with the suddenness of her movement. She felt a hand on her face, trying to "wake her up", but she didn't move. One man muttered,

"You've got to be kidding me." He hoisted her up over his shoulder, as if she were a sack of potatoes, rather than a human being. "The Secretary sure isn't going to be happy that she's gone and passed out on us. I'm pretty sure he wanted her awake."

The other merely grunted, and Olivia stayed motionless as they began to move forward once again. Her brain was screaming at her to get out of such a vulnerable position, and her mind was whirring, formulating a plan. They came to the elevators, she knew, from the mechanical beeping that sounded as the doors opened. She waited for them to step inside, and to hear the doors close, before she made a move. Slowly, carefully, she adjusted her body, moving her arm so that it hung down over the man's holster. He hadn't noticed, or passed it off as a strange jerk or twice in her unconsciousness.

In one swift movement, she had the gun out of the holster, and jabbed the guy in the small of the back. He yelped and dropped her, and she brought her arm around, catching his jaw with the butt of the gun. He fell, but the second man leapt for her. Not one to kill needlessly, Olivia darted to the side, then brought the gun across the back of her head, her instincts and training kicking in despite her exhaustion. A sneak attack, however cowardly, assured that she would have the upper hand.

Stepping over the bodies, the gun still gripped in her hand, she directed the elevator to the floor where the Secretary's office was located. She would need to find Peter first, though, and hoped he was close by.

#

Olivia had once told him that, if she had a chance, despite what had he had done to her, she wouldn't kill Walternate. She "hadn't though he deserved it", because his motives were sincere, however skewed. As he stood in the elevator, he wondered if her sentiments had changed; and, if it would actually come down to a death in saving the universes.

He turned to one of the agents and said, "I'd like to see my father"

There was no protest, and he supposed they'd been given orders not to deny him that right, at least. And so, he was led into the elevator. The lift stopped the floor below their destination, and as the doors slid open, he was met with quite a surprise.

It was Olivia—the Other Olivia, Fauxlivia, as Walter had called her, once—standing there, arms crossed. She, too, had quite a shock upon seeing him there.

"You're still here? He kept you here?"

"Agent Dunham," said one of the guards, as they stepped inside, "I'm going to have to ask you not to speak to him. We're under strict orders."

She shrugged, now silent, and there was a moment of piece as they were shut inside the elevator. Then, Peter twisted around, slamming a fist into the side of one of the agent's head. He was out, but the other had his gun aimed, and nearly got in a shot, though the bullet ricocheted off the wall of the lift instead, tearing a hole in the steel, as Peter took a hold of the barrel and redirected it. Fauxlivia caught on, and she, to his disbelief, helped him disarm them both.

She passed him a gun, and he asked, rolling it over in his hands, "Why're you helping me?"

She shifted on her heels for a moment, her lips pursed. "I know now that I should've never brought back that piece of the Machine, if what you told me is true. And, I want to help. I don't want to be part of the cause of the destruction of the universe, whether it's this one, or the other."

He had no time to question her motives, or as to why she was there in the first place, though she certainly seemed sincere. "Good, then. We need to find Olivia—I don't know where Walterate's keeping her, but it's somewhere in the building. And then, we need to find a way to stop him from turning on the Machine."

"Walternate?" She cocked a brow in her amusement.

"It's a nickname."

"Gotcha." She turned toward the doors. "And how do you plan on stopping him?"

"I haven't gotten that far yet."


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

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><p>Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone reading and reviewing. Don't forget to tell me what you think of this chapter!<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Seventeen<p>

The elevator doors slid open, and they were faced with an eerie silence. It was as if someone had frozen time—no one was coming down the hall; they were alone, for the moment. Peter wordlessly moved forward, the gun clutched in his hand. Fauxlivia followed.

"Do you even know where you're going?"

"She was being held down here," he said, with a sharp nod.

He was surprised she was following him. She knew that she must've been confused, and how much she hated the feeling. Olivia did, too.

The door was open, the room empty. Peter stood in the doorway, dumbstruck. "Where'd she go?"

"They must've taken her." She peered over his shoulder. The cot was empty, the restraints hanging uselessly from the sides.

"Taken her _where_?"

"How should I know?"

He tore around, nearly tripping in his haste, back down the hall. Fauxlivia had to jog to keep up with him.

"We need to find her," he said, "before they do anything to her. That idiot Brandon wanted to hurt her last time she was kept her—I'm sure he'd still do it now, given the opportunity." He free hand was balled into a fist.

"I'm sure the Secretary hasn't done anything to her, not yet, at least."

He turned sharply, cutting her off, both of them stopped. "And how would you know? Hell, you could still be on his side, tricking me, trying to lead me away from her."

Her eyes narrowed, she crossed her arms. "Yeah? You'd really think that of me, after all of this? I'm not a—a robot. I'm not just some soldier of the Secretary's, following his every order. I have my own mind, and it's telling me that the person I should help is _you_, not him, and that's what I'm doing. If anything, I should be doubting you. I want to help you, Peter, but we can't get anything done standing around."

His shoulders sagged. "Fine. Fine, I believe you." There was something in her eyes that made him sympathize with her. Olivia hadn't always been the greatest liar—not to him, anyway—and the Other Olivia was nearly the same in that sense. "Let's just get going. No more delays, no more—" His words halted as he turned back down the hall, his jaw dropping. There, at the end, was Olivia, panting, her own stolen gun in hand.

"Peter?" She whispered his name, as if she didn't believe it was him, entirely ignoring her alternate for the time being. He moved forward, wrapping his arms around her.

"Olivia, how'd you get out?" He held her close to him, his hand at the back of her head.

"Long story, no time to explain." She was breathless, as if she'd just been running. "They know I've escaped, they're coming. We have to move." She pulled away from him, stopping for only a moment to meet his eyes, and then she gestured to her alternate. "Let's go. Walternate's in his office, and I think it's time we _all _had a meeting with him."

It would've been preferable to be able to simply stroll into his office to have that meeting, but things were never easy for them. No, instead, as soon as the three joined to head down the hall, armed guards appeared at the other end. Their voices rose as they spotted them, and heavy footfalls reverberated against the walls as the chase began.

Olivia was fading, and quickly. Peter could see it, in her pace, in her eyes. This was too much for her—not just physically, but emotionally. How many times had it been, now, that she'd been taken hostage; that she'd been running for her life? Too many to count, he knew. Fauxlivia was ahead, leading the way—she knew where she was going, and he wasn't at all worried about her at the moment. He held out a hand for Olivia, and she grabbed it. His momentum kept them both going.

Bullets ricocheted off the walls and the floor. Fauxlivia loosed a couple of rounds herself as the three of them skidded around a corner. None of them hit a guard, but that hadn't been her intention in the first place. Her intention was only to scare, and it worked. The guards' pace slowed, and they managed to stay ahead as they continued the chase.

"It's just up ahead," she called back to them. And when she reached the door, yanking it open, Peter and Olivia weren't far behind. They slipped into the waiting room, holding the door closed behind them. The door was thick, for the sake of the Secretary's safety. Who'd have thought it'd be beneficial to them as well? Fauxlivia was the last one through; she made sure it was locked behind her. The Secretary's secretary looked up from her spot at her desk.

"What the he—?" she began, but Olivia cut her off.

"No time for questions. The Secretary's in there, yes?"

Her mouth agape, she nodded slowly.

"If you let anyone through that door, I swear, it'll be _you_ whose responsible for the end of the world."

Without another word, Olivia, now at the head, shouldered her way through the next door. Despite the hospital gown and the gauze on her head, now just barely clinging to her flesh with her exertion, she looked quite intimidating, her jaw set, her eyes hard. It was quite the motley crew that filed into Walternate's office, though he showed no hint of emotion whatsoever. He lifted his chin, meeting her eyes.

"I see you've escaped. That's your third time." A nasty little grin tugged at his lips. "Impressive."

Her gun, safety off, was leveled at his head. Peter thought it to be a sort of odd parallel. "Enough with the games. I'm sick of this," she spat, "of being treated like an experiment. And, I'm sick of your obstinacy."

Walternate stood, and her grip on the gun tightened, her stance widening. "Don't move. We've all got guns; you're outnumbered."

His head swiveled, as his gaze focused on Fauxlivia. "I thought you were different. I thought you wanted to protect this universe—to protect your son. Helping them is only detrimental to our cause."

"_Our_ cause?" Her contempt nearly matched Olivia's. "I don't know what you're playing at, but I believe them over you. _You_ tricked me. And I went along with it for a while, because I didn't know any better. But now I do."

Peter nodded, taking a step forward, lining his shoulder up with Olivia's. "I don't know if you've actually been taking into consideration what we've been telling you, but it's enough with the negotiation."

As he moved around the desk, Olivia said, slowly, deliberately, "It ends here."

His fingers dug into Walternate's shoulder, the gun between his shoulder blades. "The Machine—where is it?"

His face didn't change, a statue carved from stone, as he led them down the hall. The guards stood aside at the sight of the gun; none wanted to be responsible for the death of the Secretary of Defense. And as they descended into the bowels of Liberty Island, Walternate said,

"Is this what you want, son? To be holding your father at gunpoint, when all I'm trying to do is repair our world?"

"You're not my father." Peter's voice was steady, though his eyes, Olivia noted, told an entirely different story. "You haven't been my father for a long time. And, after what you've done, that will never change."

"What have I done? Tried to make this universe a better place, _after_ the man on the Other Side tried to destroy it."

"No." The gun was pushed further into the Secretary's back; a short, almost inaudible yelp of pain escape through his lips. "He didn't try to destroy it. Its slow destruction was an unforeseen consequence. What he did was save my life, something you weren't able to do. I would've died if not for him."

"And perhaps that would've been a preferable fate, if it would've prevented all of _this_."

Peter scoffed, but the words tore at his heart. "This isn't my world, not anymore. I don't belong here."

"And what of your son, Peter? What of the mother of your child?"

They had stopped at a pair of double doors, looming above them like a mouth, waiting to swallow them. Peter looked back, craning his neck. Fauxlivia stood further back, staring right back at him. She was quite obviously concerned, though there was something else there, too.

"What of them? They'll be able to continue on with their lives, once we've righted this. I don't intend to kill anyone, not like you."

"But they'll be without you."

Olivia stalked forward; the conversation was over. The doors were opened by a touch-sensitive mechanism by Walternate's hand. The Machine stood in the center of the room, bathed in fluorescent light. Scientists milled about, though the load of them stopped and turned at the sound of the doors opening.

"Everybody out." Olivia's voice rang out, strident, deceiving to her actual physical state. Her face was contorted, coiled into an expression of such disgust. She pulled the trigger; a bullet buried itself in the ceiling. There was a rustle of movement as people dove to the ground. "_Now_."

As the unwanted left, they parted for the group of four, the exodus of the Red Sea. The doors were sealed, and they moved to stand just beyond the Machine, in its shadow.

"How did you activate it in the first place?" Peter's voice neared a whisper, now.

"Your son. All we needed was your DNA." A tinge of arrogance snuck into his voice. "That mistake you and my Olivia Dunham made was lucky."

Fauxlivia stiffened. "Mistake? Maybe our actions were, yeah, but not my son. My son is not a mistake."

Walternate staggered forward as Peter shoved him, then turned. Three guns were aimed at his chest.

Olivia thrust her chin out toward him. "Tell us how to deactivate it."

"You don't know?"

"It's different on Our Side. Do you really want to be doing this, when your life is at stake?"

"My life isn't at stake. You wouldn't kill me."

"You want to test that theory out?"

Peter could see it in her body language; she was losing it. Her shoulders were stiff, as if attempting to ward off the exhaustion, but her face was haggard. She was putting on a brave face, and doing a damn good job of it, too, but she couldn't last. She'd resort to anger.

"These Machines, on both sides, should be destroyed." She sneered, her mouth twisted. "You don't have a right to play God, and neither do we."

"If it's for the sake of the people, then why not?" He was still adamant. The very idea that he thought that, by saving billions of people, it was then right to kill billions more, sent her into a tizzy.

The Machine seemed to be almost…glowing. Hazy blue streams of current ran through it, glinting dully off the metal. It had already begun to react to Peter.

They didn't have the chance to interrogate him further. Walternate said,

"I've had enough of this. I will not be cornered like this, in my own—" His words ended as he tumbled to the floor. It was so sudden, so unexpected, for him to be cut short like that. The air felt as if it had been sucked from the room; none of them moved. Blood bubbled in a thin line around his neck, erupting over the unnatural bend of his spine.

Fauxlivia was the first one to move, to kneel at his side. "What the hell just happened?" This man, who'd given the illusion that she'd cared for her and for her son, and for the good of the universe, now lay dead, and she wasn't sure what to feel. "He—he's dead." She straightened up, turning in a flash of red back toward the two of them. "How did that happen?"

Peter looked to Olivia. She waved on her feet, her eyes wide. She didn't look wholly there. Her eyes caught Peter's.

"I…I was just…I was thinking about how much I'd like to snap his neck, at that moment."


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

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><p>Author's Note: Thank you to everyone reading and reviewing. Don't forget to tell me what you think of this chapter.<p>

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><p>Chapter Eighteen<p>

"You _killed _him?"

"I didn't mean to, I…" Her eyes were on Peter, as if he had the answers, as if he were the solution to the problem. His neck bobbed, his hands raking through his hair.

"This is the catalyst..I'm sure it happened differently then, but—"

"Peter, what are you talking about?"

He swung to face her. "The Cortexiphan, the abilities it gave you; some sort of telekinesis, or something. When I was there, in the future—" Fauxlivia startled a bit at the mention, "—you had more control over it. You know how it's activated, Olivia. The emotions you have..I guess you weren't able to keep such a tight hold on them, this time."

"The future?" She was weighted to the floor, unmoving until she got answers. "I have no idea what's going on here, and I want that to be fixed." The hostility had returned, stronger than ever. "Was this your plan all along, to kill him?"

Olivia's eyes were closed. "No." Her voice was just above a whisper. "I never wanted to kill anyone..death is what we were trying to prevent."

He knew she wouldn't appreciate any sort of comforting gesture at the moment; she wasn't one to show weakness in public, and certainly not in front of her double. The bafflement that clouded the room was palpable, strangling. Even Peter knew more of the extent of Olivia's than she did herself, because of his venture into the future, but there was no time to further explain it now.

Fauxlivia was fixated on Olivia, something akin to disgust on her face. Peter was blocking her view in a quick moment, forcing her to focus on him, and him only. "That piece of the Machine you brought back, do you know what it does?"

She shook her head, as if waking from a trance. "No. I only know that the Secretary needed it, or else the Machine wouldn't work."

Peter growled something, sounding like, 'that's not much of a help', and his feet carried him to the Machine, despite his mind's apprehension. He heard Olivia call for him, but he ignored her, as much as it pained him to do so. Though Walternate was dead, it didn't mean they were out of the woods just yet. The Machine would need to be dismantled before they could have any sort of peace.

The air crackled with energy with each step he took. He remembered what it had done to him the first time he'd attempted contact on the Other Side, and it was only his will to end this all that kept him moving forward. He presumed the piece the Other Olivia had brought back was a sort of energy source, though where it was located, he could only guess. A hand on the warm metal told him it was safe, at least for now, and a sharp breath from behind told him that Olivia was right there with him.

"Be careful, Peter."

It seemed as if this was all too easy; killing off Walternate was certainly one way to solve their problems, though not the most preferable, and the Machine seemed to still be dormant at the moment. Peter was pulling pieces from it with abandon, wanting only to make it unusable, uncaring what he did in the process. A touch of a wire sent a shock through his arms, the current making its way down his body, and he crashed to the floor.

There was a gasp, though he wasn't sure from whom, and then arms were around his chest, and he was positive they were Olivia's. His eyes opened, he smiled at her. His hair stood on edge, singed, though it seemed to be the extent of the effects of the shock.

"I'm fine."

"You won't be, though, now that I'm here." The voice came from the corner of the room. The doors were still closed, he must've been there all along; how could they not have noticed him? "You think that killing him, however you did it, is going to stop all of this? That taking one piece of the Machine is going to end it?" Brandonate sure was putting on a brave show, his chest puffed out and all that.

Olivia scoffed. "I wouldn't say anything more if I were you."

"Why? You're going to kill me, just like you did the Secretary? Don't you remember that I studied you? I know how you work, Ms. Dunham." He had a bit of a swagger in his walk—misplaced cockiness, Peter thought. "That was an accident, a mistake. You didn't mean to kill him. And I don't think you have enough energy to do it a second time."

"You know nothing about me, about my abilities." She spoke through gritted teeth, looking as much the part of a federal agent as ever, the gun balanced comfortably in her hands.

"I never liked you," said Fauxlivia. Her own weapon still hung at her side. "And I have no qualms about putting a bullet right in the center of your forehead, if that's what it comes down to. You're not going to screw this up."

Screwing it up, though, seemed inevitable. Everything they'd done up 'til now had managed to be screwed up in some way or another, and though Walternate was very much dead, they still had the trouble of deactivating the Machine, and making sure it never came on again. It was terrible, to know that such great power lay in the hands of people, when something like that really should've belonged to no one at all. No one should've had the power to create or destroy something as large as a universe.

"Try to take away the power source," Brandonate continued, "but it's impossible. And, even if you're not here, I can still activate the Machine. All we need is your DNA, Peter Bishop, but I've got enough of it in this universe, courtesy of you two."

"And what gives you the right," said Peter, moving forward, "to make these sort of decisions? Everything you did was under the direction of the Secretary. You're not first in line to take his place, are you? You're _bluffing_."

He didn't even stumble over his words, though it was clear in his expression that Peter spoke the truth. It was strange, how different he was from his alternate—more self-assured than their Brandon would ever be. "We have technology that enables us to cross universes, all thanks to our studies of Ms. Dunham. You won't be safe from us ever again."

"Us?" Fauxlivia hissed, "Or you? Who's going to side with you, knowing your true intentions?"

"Oh, plenty, for the sake of saving their own universe. See, they don't _know _that your universe isn't trying to destroy us."

She didn't want to kill him—honestly, she had enough to fret about, to have on her shoulders for the rest of her life, and though he was an evil man, Olivia didn't want to kill him. But her hands never wavered, despite her body's protest, her sore muscles and gravity attempting to readjust her aim. But, there was no other choice, it seemed. It was he, or they.

Or not.

There was a thunderous _crash_, and the doors burst open. What seemed to be the entire security staff of the Department of Defense flooded into the room, weapons aimed at every person standing in the center.

Fauxlivia's face brightened upon spotting the man at the head of it all. "Lincoln?"

The very man himself strode to stand between Brandonate and the three others, shooting her a grin before he began to speak. "You know, mostly everyone who works for the Department of Defense—even the Secretary himself—is implanted with a tracking chip. But, did you know that the chip also monitors vitals of the user as well? As soon as the Secretary died, we were alerted."

Olivia sagged; her gun clattered to the floor. This was either very bad, or very good. But, a gun wouldn't help her now, not in the midst of all of this. Peter was at her side in an instant.

"I think you're flaunting—though, you don't have much to brag about—is done with, now. I think that a man like you really shouldn't be involved in matters involving any sort of defense—national, universal, whatever." A nod of his head, and there was a clattering of metal as Brandonate was shoved to the floor, stomach-first, and cuffed. "As for you three," he swept his arms toward them, "come with me. We have a lot to talk about."

Fauxlivia was overjoyed to see him—that much was unmistakable, from the look in her eyes, though her exterior was as cool as ever. She was at the head as they followed him into the Secretary's office.

"How'd you get it all organized like that?" Fauxlivia was the first to voice one of the many questions they all had. He didn't answer, and instead turned to Olivia.

"It was you who I drove here, wasn't it?"

Olivia nodded.

"That explains a lot." He clasped his hands in front of his body, bowing his head for a moment. "I know why you came here, and I'm not going to keep you here any longer. And, I promise, this ends now. The Machine will be disassembled, and all the technology that Dr. Fayette developed to cross universes will be destroyed. As long as you do no harm to us, then the peace between universes will be upheld."

"But," said Peter, dropping into a chair, "what gives you the right to say all this?"

He took in a deep breath, glancing at the Other Olivia. "The head of the Fringe Division is next in line for the position of Secretary of Defense."

"_What_?" The shock was from Fauxlivia, surprisingly enough. "Not the head of—"

"The head of Fringe Division is the only one with enough knowledge about the inter-universal relations, among others." He offered a cheeky smile. "I'm not just a pretty face, 'Liv." He was absolutely glowing, reveling in this increase in power, though not in a haughty way.

Peace would be restored. That was all they cared about—not the transference of power, which would obviously take a lot of getting used to, or anything else here. Only peace.

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><p>Author's Note: (This isn't completely necessary to read, but if you want to know my reasoning behind the ending to this part of their journey, then go ahead)<p>

I didn't want another escape, running back to their own universe, leaving the fate still open-ended. And though a nice action piece, with another escape and gunfire and all that jazz, could've been their means of escape, I didn't want that. I wanted there to be some semblance of peace. I'm not completely happy with killing off Walternate, but I felt this way a good way to wrap it all up.

But don't worry, this isn't the end. There's still a few more chapters left.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

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><p>Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone reading and reviewing.<p>

The lack of reviews has been a bit disconcerting, but only because I want to know that people are still enjoying the story.

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><p>Chapter Nineteen<p>

Late at night, she wasn't expecting a knock at her door. But, she almost welcomed it; the loneliness was overbearing much of the time, and tonight was one of those times. And Lincoln stood in the doorway, wrapping her in a hug as soon as she allowed him inside, whispering to her,

"It's over, Olivia. The war's over."

She would've offered him a drink to celebrate, if not for her hatred of the stuff, but he seemed content simply to be with her.

"We don't have to worry about them coming here and destroying our world anymore. We can live without that." A little cry came from the next room over; both their eyes went toward the origin. "He's safe." Lincoln took her hand, leading her to the couch. "Now, I know this may be a bit much to put on you right now, but I can't hold it in any longer."

"So much for being able to keep a secret, huh?" They both laughed.

"Yeah, sure." He squeezed her hand, positively beaming. "Anyway, since I'm the Secretary now—still sound's strange to say—we need a new head of the Fringe Division." He cocked a brow, looking at her expectantly. "What d'you say?"

She leaned in toward him, teasing, her hair brushing his cheek. "No."

He shot back, staring at her as if she'd just grown a third head. "_No_? Why not? You'd be perfect for the job, and—"

"I have a son to take care of." As his face dropped, she hastily added, "Don't worry, I'm not leaving the Fringe Division, I could never. But, I can't take on that responsibility now. Do you get what I'm saying."

He rolled his eyes at her, a caricature of a disappointed sigh coming past his lips. "Yeah, yeah. Just not happy to hear it. Well, Charlie will be happy for the promotion, anyway."

She grinned. "See, we're all happy."

He stood, moving toward the door. "I'd better go. Busy day today, busy day tomorrow." He tilted his head, his hand on the doorknob, studying her. "You don't have to do this by yourself, you know. I'm here, Olivia, if you ever need me."

She smiled. "I know." Then, she returned his grin. "Good luck, Mr. Secretary."

"You too, Agent Dunham."

#

"It was too easy."

"And you can't just appreciate that, rather than pick at every single thing that happened these past few days?"

The backseat of the SUV that was their transport to the Harvard lab didn't afford them much privacy, but neither seemed to care. They'd be leaving this universe, after all, and, hopefully, never coming back. The driver—the only other occupant of the vehicle—didn't seem to be too garrulous.

They'd given Olivia back her clothes; they'd kept them for whatever strange reason, which she didn't much care about. She was just glad that she had them back, because she preferred her coat and suit to the hospital gown. She still had a bad feeling about the whole situation, though Peter did not share her sentiments.

"Not really, no."

He wound his fingers through hers, pressing his lips to the knuckles of her hand. "I trust Agent Lee, and.." He paused for a moment, averting his eyes. It wasn't because he was ashamed of what he was about to say; it was because he couldn't stand the pain he saw in hers. "..Olivia Dunham, from This Side. I don't think they lied to us. I think they want peace just as much as we do."

She shifted against him, the only following sounds her breathing, and he felt her head against his shoulder. There was a tacit understanding between the two—_we're not talking about this anymore, not now. _Her voice was strong, steady, self-assured, but her face and eyes betrayed her entire demeanor at the moment, when he looked past what was superficial. The lingering memories of the future reminded him that he'd known her for much longer than she knew. He knew her reactions, when she was upset, and this was beyond _almost_ anything he'd seen. She'd been through all of it multiple times—kidnapping, torture, pain, such terrible pain—and it was all past any normal human being's breaking point. Olivia Dunham seemed to have developed a sort of coping mechanism to deal with all of this, of which he would never truly understand, but even she could become unwound; even she, with all of her strength, could fall apart.

But none of that showed, not now. The remainder of the ride was spent in silence—long hours of nothing, and he would've thought she'd fallen asleep, if he hadn't known better. They thanked the driver when they arrived, at nightfall, when the campus was nearly deserted, save for a few stragglers. It reminded Peter of his days living a nomadic existence, travelling with nothing but the clothes on his back, save for the bag Olivia had clutched in her arms. It was like walking back in time, entering Walternate's old laboratory; it was so similar to Walter's, before it had been restored. What they needed, however, was still exactly as it had been when she'd last left it. The tank was still uncovered, though there was an unsightly blood stain on the concrete just feet away from it, presumably from where the Broyles from Over Here had been killed.

Her stomach knotted in on itself. Another reminder of a life lost because of her doing, and the guilt was becoming nearly intolerable. It was Peter that brought her back, taking a hold of her arm, making sure that she was all right. A nod from her was his only assurance, and even that wasn't enough, though he decided he'd leave her alone about it until she got back.

A talk was definitely in order for when they returned. A _long_ talk.

He worked on filling the tank, loading it with Epsom salt, while she emptied the contents of the bag she'd been carrying onto a bare lab table. It was Cortexiphan, or, at least, what the scientists from this universe had been able to develop from the data and research they'd procured from her. It would do.

Apprehension was palpable in the air, and he rested a hand on her arm, as the syringe was loaded in her hand.

"You really think this is going to work?"

She looked at him dully; she couldn't even manage a cocked brow. "It did last time. It's our best chance, anyway." And she was injecting the stuff into her veins before he could get another word in.

Clothes and all, they entered the tank with abandon. He clutched her to his body, his hands wrapped in her jacket, face buried in her shoulder. He felt her hands on his back, searching for what little support she could garner, knowing the rest of their journey lay in her hands. The water soaked through the fabric, chilling them both, and it seemed as if they had been there forever, waiting, and nothing was happening. Then, though, she jerked in his arms, and let out a gasp. He felt it, too; a strange pulling in his stomach, as if something was yanking on him from the inside out.

He opened his eyes, and knew. Where before there had been light shining through the crack in the doors, there was none. Perhaps the water was slightly warmer, though it was hard to tell. With leaden limbs, he pushed himself up, opening the doors, dragging a now-unresponsive Olivia with him. She was like a rag doll, her head lolling to the side as he pulled her by her underarms from the water, and his stomach was rolling in on itself as he knelt beside her. His lips murmured her name, his hand cupped her cheek, but she made no movement, no acknowledgement to his pleads. The fact that they were surely back in their own universe was no consolation; all he wanted was for her to be all right.


	20. Chapter 20

Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing. There will just be another chapter after this, maybe two. It's been fun, hasn't it? I've certainly had fun writing it.

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><p>Chapter Twenty<p>

She was aware that she was conscious before opening her eyes, and kept them closed, wanting to believe that she was somewhere safe, fearing that she was still trapped in the cell on the Other Side. She, at last, worked up the nerve, and squinted into the lights that nearly blinded her as her eyelids cracked open. The lids were heavy, her tongue thick in her mouth, her head feeling as if it'd been wrapped in a pillow, and she was looking through the fabric. She tilted her head to the side, and found a half-asleep Peter, slumped over in a chair. He'd grown a nice six o'clock shadow, and she presumed he hadn't moved from the spot for a while. A relieved gasp slipped past his lips as she whispered his name, and he curled his fingers around hers.

"Olivia, thank God." He looked at her as if she was the only thing in the world, as if there was nothing else to worry about but her state of being. "You're in the hospital." He moved forward, bending his head toward hers. "We were all so worried.."

She managed to stammer another few words past his qualms. "How long…?"

"Three days. You've been unconscious for three days."

"And everyone else?"

He offered a small smile. "Everything's back to normal, as far as I can tell. We can talk about that later. I think I should get a doctor, to check you out.." He made a move to stand, but she took a hold of his wrist, pulling him back down. "What?"

"Don't leave." Her mind was still a blur of the events of the past few days, and her chest was still weighted with apprehension. It was as if the memories were coming back slowly, and he watched her as she worked through them, her expression changing drastically in the matter of a couple seconds.

She turned to face him, her hand moving from his wrist to wrap into his shirt. "We're back," she said, having seemingly regained full use of her voice, "but that doesn't mean it's over." There was a tinge of bitterness to her voice; something he hadn't expected, not so early in her consciousness. "The things that happened…"

"I know, 'Livia, and we'll work everything out." His brows came together, in his desperation to calm her down, his obvious want for this conversation to wait. "We have a lot to talk about, but not here, not when you've just woken up."

"No." Her voice was firm. "I can't do that…I can't just sit here, knowing what's happened."

"You need to rest, Olivia. That's the only thing that'll help."

She pressed the heels of her palms over her eyes, her shoulders moving with the force of a single, silent sob, that she so desperately tried to repress. Whatever drugs they'd given her, they'd seemed to inhibit her ability to compartmentalize. Everything she was feeling was pouring out of her, drowning them both. "I killed him. I didn't want to, didn't mean to. It just happened. But it did, and I don't even know _how_."

"It's the Cortexiphan." He understood the source of her distress, but didn't share her sentiment. After all, he'd been there for Walternate's murder of Olivia, in the future. He considered it a fair retribution, but Olivia, of course, couldn't see it that way. "It gave you more abilities than I'm sure anyone anticipated. You'll learn to control them, eventually." Her eyes shone, with anger at his nonchalance, and with sheer, naked emotion. "It was for the best, Olivia. He was going to kill us if we didn't find a way out." He glanced toward the door. "Please, 'Livia. Hell, you've been in a coma for three days. I'm surprised you're talking as well as you are, that you remember everything, and—"

"I remember more than you'd like—more than _I'd _like." He swore the sound of his heart breaking echoed through the room, as her eyes met his. He hadn't seen her look at him that way since they'd sat in Barrett's garden. "You have a son."

"It was a mistake."

"It was _stupid_."

He stood suddenly, pulling himself from her grasp, moving to the other end of the room, as if he were repulsed. "Stupid?" he repeated, scowling. "Haven't we talked about this already, Olivia?" Her name coming from his mouth, at that moment, sounded more like a curse than anything else. "I thought she was _you_. It was a mistake, and if it had happened with you, then I would've gladly accepted the repercussions, because I want to be with you, and no one else. But it didn't. It happened with the Other Olivia, and I have to deal with _those _consequences as well. I have a son now, 'Livia, a son that I had to leave Over There.

"The decay of that universe isn't going to stop. It'll be years, probably, before the deterioration is actually significant enough to cause major losses, but he's still Over There, and I'm not going to be able to see him ever again. I'm sorry that it ever happened, but don't hold it against me. You're not the only victim here."

He paused to take a breath, staring at her, seeing how visibly upset she became at his words. But he wasn't going to go back to her now, tell her that what she had said was okay, because it wasn't. He wasn't going to accept any sort of insinuation that he _still_, after numerous discussions, preferred the other universe or the Other Olivia the slightest bit, and she was not going to use his son as ammunition in that argument.

He said, more softly, "I'm going to get the doctor now."

#

Peter didn't return with the doctor. This wasn't at all what she had wanted, and she knew that blaming him wasn't right, but she didn't know whom to blame, and he'd been the first target she'd thought of. It was as if her mind was working overtime, in an attempt to process everything that had happened, and was unable to. She couldn't stop it, and the gears in her head continued to turn, to grind together. The morphine drip didn't help much at all. The stiffness she discovered in her limbs shortly after Peter left the room didn't add to her optimism, either.

The doctor assured her that it was only a temporary effect, but then again, he really had no idea what the effects were. Moving between universes multiple times had taken an obvious toll on her body, and this doctor, having been stationary Over Here, really didn't have a clue. And then he left, leaving her alone with her thoughts, until there was a knock at her door, and Walter edged his way inside.

"Mind if I come in?" His voice was uncharacteristically soft, his face drawn. Olivia nodded, went to gesture to the seat that Peter had vacated, and found that it took far too much energy to move the stiffened limb. Walter took the seat, anyway, and offered her a small smile before he said, "Peter's upset, you know. I'm not surprised, after what's happened, but I _am _surprised he's not in here with you, Olivia." He titled his head, dark eyes studying her. The differences between him and his alternate were so vibrant, now, just in his gaze. "I knew you would wake up. Peter and the doctor weren't so sure, but I told them you'd make it through. You always do."

Her mouth twitched. She didn't allow herself a smile. "Thank you, Walter. That means a lot."

He was wringing his hands, his mouth working as if he had more to say, but didn't want to verbalize it just yet. "You and Peter were missing for quite a while—a few days. I wasn't sure, I thought perhaps you were gone working on a case and I had simply forgotten, but I was told otherwise. You went missing when you both were transported to the Other Side, yes?" His eyes found hers again. "Will you tell me what happened?"

She tipped her chin back, settling deeper into the pillows, giving off a heavy sigh. "It's a long story." But he looked at her like an eager child, though the expression was marred by years of guilt, and by a want to hear that their universe had made it through on top, for once. Olivia continued, "You won't remember any of it. Neither will Astrid, or Broyles, or anyone. Only Peter and I will ever remember it, and I can't tell you why that is. But what I can tell you is that, for a little while in the past, Peter didn't exist."

Walter shifted in his seat, discomfited. "What does that mean?"

"The Observers, you remember them? One of them made a mistake. Peter needs to exist, you see—that's what I was told. I didn't remember him, but I do know that he caused the two universes to become conjoined. That bridge didn't last long, and when it was gone, I was made aware that I needed to find him, even though I didn't even know who he was. None of us did."

She continued, leaving out bits and pieces that she thought were irrelevant, or too personal to share. When she came to the end, Walter was hanging on her every word, perched on the edge of his seat, as if she were telling a wild tale of knights and dragons.

"And what of Walternate?" he asked, eyes bright.

"He's dead." How, though, she decided, was a story for another day. It would lead into a whole new discussion, involving the further effects of her Cortexiphan treatment, most likely, and she didn't want to get into that. "What's important is that the Machine can no longer be activated on the Other Side, and we're back here." Turning her head fully toward him, she then said, "But, what's next? The Other Side will continue to decay, won't it?"

He nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid we can't stop it. What was written will come to pass…Because of my actions, that universe will be destroyed, albeit at a much slower pace than if the Machine were to be activated. Ours will be taken apart—I'll make sure of it." He paused, then, "I can't say I'm glad Walternate is dead. After all, he had his reasons for doing the things he did, and I don't ever think it's right to be joyful over someone's death, no matter who they are, or what they've done. But, I do know that this may just have saved us from dealing with more inter-universal problems." Walter then stood, reaching over to give her hand a pat. "I don't know what happened between you and Peter, but I do hope you can resolve it. After a venture like that, I don't think that a quarrel over something trivial, as I'm sure it was, should tear you both apart. You're too smart for that, my dear."

Her brows came together, her eyes dark with understanding. Past the lump in her throat, she could only managed to get out, "Thank you, Walter."

He moved toward the door, though when he reached it, he turned and said, "I'm not as daft as I may seem to be much of the time. I do notice much more than many may think…" He trailed off for a moment, and she realized that this was a moment of true clarity for him; he was as lucid as ever, his eyes clear, his expression somber. "I can conclude, from your words and behavior, that Walternate isn't simply _dead_. He was killed, and I assume it was by your hand, if I'm reading you correctly."

"Not hand, per say," began Olivia, and he nodded.

"I understand. It has to do with the Cortexiphan trials, doesn't it?" She nodded. "The abilities take different forms in each of the subjects, you know that. It seems that it also differs in the time it takes for the full extent of the abilities to be revealed. I'm sure it was a very emotional time for you then, and we know that emotion is what activates your abilities."

"What does this mean, Walter?" She edged her way up, bracing herself on her elbows, battling through the stiffness and pain. "The others…pyrokinesis, healing abilities…I thought I could only see to the Other Side."

"Apparently that is not so." He gave her a small smile, the curious side of him returning with the twinkle in his eyes. He looked wistful. "You used to be able to start fires with your mind…we will see. For now, dear, you should get some rest."

She nodded, taking a breath. He had a foot out the door when she called after him, with some hesitancy, "Could you send Peter back in?"

She heard a "sure", and knew Walter would be smiling at the request. Settling back into the pillows, she sucked in another breath, in an attempt to prepare herself. It felt odd, to be so nervous about seeing him—it was Peter, after all—but they didn't often fight, and she knew that the words they had exchanged weren't exactly easily forgotten. At this moment, though, the last thing she wanted was for them to be on bad terms.

He came in after just a few moments, not venturing past the doorway. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and though his expression was one of nonchalance, she knew his emotions were just as volatile as hers were, then. He bore the markings of their venture; bruises here and there, mostly. But his eyes were what told the story. He looked as if he'd aged drastically, and yet, his appearance was unchanged. And staring was all they did for a while, until Olivia said, at last,

"I'm sorry."

To her surprise, he shook his head and moved forward, to the edge of the bed. "Don't be. You'd just woken up, and we shouldn't have been talking about it."

"No." She matched his protests. "I'm glad we talked about it. Sure, the words probably weren't the best, but leaving that bottled up…it's over now, anyway." She peered up at him. "Right?"

The corner of his lip quirked upward. "Right."

And that was that. The anger had dissipated, and though she knew that there was more to be explored, more to talk about, that wasn't going to happen now. Her minds was hazy, unfocused, and the pain was beginning to really get to her. She reached for Peter's hand, and he was right there for her, tracing erratic patterns over her palm with his thumb.

"How're you feeling?" She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could get a word out, he added hastily, "_Really_."

She'd been about to say "fine", but he wasn't going to fall for it. He'd certainly made that clear. "Stiff. Sore. Like I drank _way _too much last night."

His smile turned a bit melancholy. "The doctor said it would take a while for you to be fully back to normal. I mean, he doesn't know…But Walter, too, said that what you did, it sucked the energy right out of you, crossing universes like that." In an effort to lighten the mood, he ended with, "Guess we won't be going on any inter-universal vacations anytime soon."

"No." Her voice was breathy, wooly, as if she weren't completely engrossed in the conversation. "I don't think we will."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "What're you thinking about?"

She turned her head, cheek pressed to the pillow, and with his free hand, he brushed back a stray wisp of hair. "I know neither of us want to get into it now, but…" Her jaw trembled just the slightest bit, and her teeth dug into her lip. Her arm moved limply as she spoke; an attempt at gesticulating, emphasizing her words, but her body was too weak to do so. "I killed him. It wasn't as if I had to—I just _did_. Snapped his neck, just like that."

"Olivia, you didn't—"

She knew what he was about to say. "I know I didn't mean to, but it happened anyway. The thing was, I wanted to settle it _without _death. I was determined to have him see our side, to understand why the Machine couldn't be activated. And, I understood his point of view, too. The actions he'd taken against us weren't wholly unwarranted. He had a right to protect his universe, even if he didn't know what exactly the consequences would be." She swallowed, her stomach twisting. "He's Walter, in essence. Peter, he's your _father_."

Peter did not speak immediately, though his eyes did not leave her face. It was as if he were remembering something, a distant memory, and a slight grimace crossed his face, before he said, "I know what you're saying, 'Livia, and I understand. I didn't want to have to have any more death involved than was absolutely necessary. But, you remember, I saw the future, or what _could have _been the future. He went after you, Olivia, killed you, just out of spite. So, I can't say that I share your sentiments exactly.

"And yeah, he's my father, and he and Walter did start out as the same person. But their lives shaped them to be almost completely different people, and while he is my father, he will never be Walter, the Walter on This Side. They've both done things that I will never be able to forgive them for, but Walternate, my true father, is also the same man that killed you. It won't happen here, with us, but it did happen, in another universe's future, and that is unforgiveable."

His words seemed to have quelled her, but not completely. The drugs were working on her, dulling the pain, and also dulling her ability to control herself, as it were. Her face was contorted into a mask of guilt, similar to the look Walter, too, sometimes displayed. It was something Peter loved about her, how emotionally involved she was, how driven, and yet, it could also be seen as a vice, sometimes, including now. As passionate as she was, she often kept it hidden, bottled up, and he knew that she didn't take death lightly, as large a part of her job as it was, especially when it was of her own doing.

Nothing he could say would change the fact that she _had_ killed him. And while Peter felt as if it was _almost _excusable, Olivia certainly would never know how he truly felt, because their experiences were different. She was sure that if she had been in his situation, and his in hers, she would have a better understanding. His words, though, would do nothing, now; she didn't seem to want to speak any longer. And so, he swung his legs over, stretching beside her, settling over the bed covers so that they were nose-to-nose, knees touching. Their fingers entwined, resting between them, his other hand cupping her face, fingers trailing across her skin.

All he wanted was to feel her, to feel her breath on his face, to smell the distinct scene that still existed among the antiseptic-coated halls of the hospital. He pressed his lips to hers, then to her cheek, to the gauze-covered abrasion stretched across her face. Her face was still swollen and bruised, her body stiff beside his, but he didn't care, of course. The only thing that mattered was that she was alive, that she had woken from the coma. He'd lived without her once. He didn't want to have to live through it again.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

It wasn't long before Olivia was discharged, allowed to go because the doctors could do nothing more for her than keep her swathed in pain medication, and tell her to stay in bed for the next couple of weeks. Fat chance, though Peter and Walter had made it clear that they would certainly try their hardest to make sure these directions were followed. Peter was due for a bit of bed rest as well, and it really was the only thing he wanted at the moment. No more high-speed chases or shootouts, or dramatic standoffs. Sleep was much preferable.

Olivia was adamant that she did as much on her own as she could. Her body, still stiff, worked against her wishes, but she was a trooper, and Peter admired her will. He was merely glad she was alive, and that appreciation hadn't faded since they'd found each other at Reiden Lake.

The night they arrived home, Walter prepared dinner—thankfully, something edible—and then offered Olivia a concoction of his own pain medication, that would "work wonders, much better than what the doctors had prescribed". She'd declined, favoring a bath instead. Hopeful, Peter had followed her, but a closed bathroom door made it clear she wanted to be alone. She was in there for a while, nearly an hour, when he thought it to be advantageous to check on her, just in case. He knocked. A beat, and then he heard her, her voice low,

"You can come in."

He sidled inside, the warmth and steam assimilating his senses; the scene of soap, and the view of her, barely hidden beneath the foamy water. He locked the door behind him, and knelt to sit beside her, the plush carpet beside the tube not doing much, comfort-wise, on the tile flooring. The nights she spent there were mostly behind locked doors. They'd had a few near misses with Walter, and tonight, neither wanted to be faced in another awkward situation.

Her eyes were closed, and he wished she would look at him, though he relished the moment, sweeping his eyes over her. The color had returned to her face, the bruising was beginning to change color to indicate healing. The strain in her expression, however—the little wrinkle in her brown—was still there, a clear indicator of her pain. He laid his hand on her shoulder, his touch light. There was some bruising on her back as well, though he wasn't sure what it was from. The ligature marks, raw patches on her wrists and ankles, were clearly from her time held captive. It pained him, physically pained him, to know that, while he'd been kept in somewhat bearable conditions, she'd been strapped to a cot, and instilled with the fear of death and mutilation.

She opened her eyes at last, and they were bloodshot. He asked, "How's the pain?"

Olivia snorted, while unconsciously leaning into his touch. "Honestly? Worse. The morphine wore off."

"The doctor gave you meds. You want me to get them?"

"No." She sighed. "Stay. I want you to stay."

He settled into an easier position, cross-legged at the edge of the bath. Wordlessly, he took a bottle of shampoo, poured a bit into his hand, and began to work it through her hair. Her arms were stiff; she'd have never been able to do it herself, not without pain. And, he knew she appreciated the gesture, from the way her posture relaxed just the slightest bit. The tension was fading from the air.

"I can't imagine what you went through back there, Olivia," he said, after a long bout of silence, his hands trailing through wet strands of hair, "having been back there a second time. I'm sorry…"

"Don't apologize, Peter, _please_ don't." She would've craned her neck to look back at him, but she couldn't. Instead, she maneuvered herself so that she was facing him, his fingers now laced behind her neck, foreheads nearly touching. "We went back there because we _had_ to, to save the universe. I would've gone through anything to do that."

His thumb trailed across the abrasion on her face, the healing tissue rough beneath his finger. She smelled not of antiseptic any longer, but of something sweet. "You're always so brave, 'Livia. You don't have to be, not with me. You can't be brave all the time. You'll go mad."

She brought her fingers to his face, fingertips brushing his jaw. "It's the only way I can cope. If I talk about it…if I think about it…I can't. It's too raw."

He stood then, holding out a towel for her, helping her stand with a firm grip on her upper arm. He wrapped her in it, pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm here, and I'll listen to whatever you want to tell me."

Her smile was grim, though it brightened as his lips met hers, softly, just a brisk touch. Making sure the coast was clear, they made their way to the bedroom, avoiding Walter; he was still in the kitchen. She lay back atop the covers, the towel barely covering her, though she didn't seem to mind. He settled beside her, rolled over on his side to face her. But her expression had gone dark again. She was upset, as clear as day, but it was so much more than that. A storm cloud had settled over them, and it was up to her whether it'd be leaving soon, or not.

"What is it, 'Livia?" Truth be told, the only thing he wanted was to lie there next to her, to hear her breath, to simply know she was alive. Her wants were much more complex. He moved toward her, a hand slipping beneath the towel to rest against the gentle slope of her hip, nose pressed against her cheek. He could feel her shallow, erratic breaths coming in short puffs.

The words weren't more than a whisper, if that. "I'm a monster."

"No, no," he murmured, his free hand coming up to her face. "Haven't we talked about this, already? It wasn't your fault, you didn't mean to do it."

"Exactly." The way she tucked herself closer to him, as if he were her lifeline, was absolutely _killing _him—they hadn't been in such proximity for quite a while now, and his body was dragging his mind from her words. He sucked in a deep breath; now was not the time. "I didn't _mean _to. What if I got angry with you, or Walter, and thought something I really didn't mean? What then?"

He chuckled, in an attempt to lighten the mood. "I doubt you'll be _that_ angry at either of us." It didn't work. She cocked a brow, eyes glistening. "Okay, listen. As soon as we take some time to recover from all of this, we'll explain it all to Walter, and ask him what you can do to try and gain control over it. Okay?" She nodded, now silent. Then, she said,

"You were right, you know." Before he could ask 'about what?', she continued, "I've never liked…feeling helpless. Having to experience something like that, without having means to stop it, is…I can't put it into words." Her face was drawn. She looked so small, right then, so sad. "I still have nightmares about the first time."

"It'll never happen again. You never have to go back there."

It tore him apart to see her like this, so out of control of her own self, and he knew how much she hated it. She was always in control, always the master of her own emotions—at least, when she could help it. Now was not one of those times. And he was there for her, as she was for him.

Both hands moved to cup her face, now, forehead resting against hers, and he focused solely on her. "It's over. We're here, and we'll keep on doing what we've always done: saving our universe. And we won't have to worry about the Other Side, because, at least for now, those problems are all over and done with. We'll be here, together, with our own little motley bunch of a family." Her shoulders shook, in an odd mixture of a laugh, hiccup, and sob.

"A family," she repeated, softly, "haven't had a normal one in a while."

"Well, you're outta luck there, hon." He pressed his lips to her cheek, travelling downward, as he murmured against the soft skin of her neck, "Normal isn't exactly a word that comes to mind when I think about all of this."

She sighed, rolling onto her back as his hands moved to her side, legs straddling her hips. "Normal, in the sense that we're all…" Her breath hitched in her throat. "…happy with each other."

"Mhm, well, we do have _that_."

Right then and there, with her hands, still stiff, yet warm against his back, and her voice, simply _her_ there with him, he knew why they had still been together, fifteen years into the future, and why his future-self had been so destroyed when she'd been taken from him. There was an implicit sureness between them—a certain want—a tacit knowing that they wanted to be with each other for a long, long time. Right then and there, he was prepared to marry her, to ask her, but he knew that she deserved more than that moment, though she certainly would've denied the fact. And it seemed his musings had taken over his actions for a moment, because she prodded his shoulder with outstretched fingers, and he shook the vacant look from his face.

"You alright?"

He smiled down at her, lips meetings hers for a quick second. "Much more than alright."

#

He woke to sunlight, warm on his face, seeping through his bones, and her arms tangled around his waist, her chest to his back. She was out cold, for the first time in what he knew must've been a long while, and he was intent on not waking her. He was successful, managing to sneak out of bed and pull on a t-shirt and sweats, though he was met with Walter in the kitchen, already bent over the stove.

"Ah, Peter, wonderful!" Peter cringed, hoping Walter's booming voice hadn't woken Olivia. "You're just in time for some breakfast. Olivia'll be up too, I hope?"

"Not just yet, she's still sleeping."

"Oh." Walter grimaced. "I'll try to be quiet, then."

Peter settled onto a stool, leaning over the counter. "That'd be nice, yeah." He peered over at the stove, relishing the domesticity of it all. "What're you making?"

"Pancakes. Thought it'd be nice, after what you went through…" He shuffled around, facing Peter, his face contorted into such a look of sadness. "You were gone for the longest time—the both of you were. We didn't know where you'd gone, or why you were." Then, his face brightened, just an infinitesimal amount. "But I knew you'd come back."

"Walter, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I don't know what happened, or what you prevented, but I have the strangest feeling that it'll do both universes well." His mouth quirked; not quite a smile, but close. "I don't know what I would've done if you both hadn't come back…"

"Hey, don't say that. We're here, and we're not leaving." He stood, moving to rest his hands on Walter's shoulders. "We'll go on as we always have, saving our universe, catching bad guys—"

"Don't forget about the bodies." That bit of excitement had returned to his voice, and their smiles matched each other. They both turned at the sound of footsteps from down the hall, and soon after, Olivia appeared at the doorway. She leaned against the wall, smirking, arms crossed. The stiffness hadn't gone, and she was a bit wobbly on her feet, but that familiar sense of—the only way Peter could think to explain it was _herself_, she was just so herself at that moment—had returned.

"Good morning, Olivia!" Walter's grin widened, and he moved forward to sweep her into his arms. "I'm so happy to see you, up and around!" He nearly lifted her off the ground, and Peter watched the exchange with amusement, and adulation.

Once he'd let her down, she said, "Thank you, Walter. It all smells wonderful."

"Ah, breakfast!" He scurried back to the stove, calling behind him, "It'll just be ready in a moment." And as he busied himself with that, Peter swooped behind her, arms wrapping around her stomach, lips finding the curve of her neck.

"Morning, 'Livia."

"Peter…" She sounded coy, glancing up at Walter, though he was oblivious (or was pretending to be).

"Don't worry about him. I hope we didn't wake you…"

"No," she murmured, leaning back into him, "no, the sun did. It was nice."

"Good." He rested his head atop her shoulder, hunched over so her body was still pressed flush to his, his hands splayed across her front. It was in that moment that he felt a happiness that had previously been so unfamiliar to them both, and the moment wasn't fleeting, either, as it had normally been. It stayed, a weight in his stomach, but it was a wonderful feeling, and he was sure she felt it, too.

THE END

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><p>Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who stuck with this until the end. I'm grateful that people have actually been reading this, and please, don't forget to tell me what you thought of this last chapter. I'm sorry that it took me so long to get out, but life got in the way.<p>

Again, thank you so much.


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